


Pretty When You're Mine

by seperis



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Drug Addiction, F/M, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-05-28
Updated: 2005-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 66,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from pre-pilot on.  Clark didn't make it in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS.
> 
> Livia said, rentboy! Livia said, here's an outline! Livia said, this will be fun! You know, this is basically me channeling Livia. She's crack. Evil crack.

"What. The fuck."

A glass hits the floor, breaking like the sound of a bullet, and Clark watches the liquid inside spread across the pale cream rug in dark red to edge in pink. That's never getting out, Clark thinks, then wonders why on earth he's focusing on, of all things, carpet stains.

Clark flickers his gaze to Dominic, slumped in a chair by the door, looking even more oily than that afternoon. Smug just isn't a good look for him. Nor is drunk, and Clark's expert eye tells him Dominic's well beyond his tolerance.

"Happy birthday, Alexander." Raising the glass of some sort of dark alcohol in salute, Dominic takes a drink, grinning over the rim. "Something for the man who has everything."

"Has" Alexander turns sharply, looking at Clark like he expects him to suddenly morph into something entirely different right in front of his eyes. Clark's gotten used to being looked at, stands still at the slow study. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Tsk. This what I get when I look this hard for an acceptable birthday present?" Dominic stands up, barely hiding the way his legs don't quite seem to know how to straighten, waving the half-empty glass in an expansive gesture, sloshing more alcohol on the floor. 

Clark's really got to get over his carpet fixation. Hands clenched behind his back, Clark tries to look as blank as possible. It seems to work, because Alexander looks away, glancing down belatedly at the stains forming under his shoes before taking another step in the room and slamming the door shut behind him.

"Explain."

Dominic grins hugely, revealing some not-so-great teeth and how drunk he really is. 

"I thought you'd like him," Dominick says, like it should be obvious, and Alexander blinks.

"Wait--you bought me a prostitute?"

Clark doesn't wince, but only because he's been called worse. Alexander makes it sound worse, somehow, and Clark watches the two men square off. Dominic *really* isn't up to this.

"You don't like?"

"Jesus." One elegant hand runs over the bald scalp before Alexander turns back around, giving Clark another one of those looks. "I don't believe this. What--was this my father's idea?"

"Nope." Dominic grins more, taking a step and almost falling. Dammit. Clark wonders why he agreed to this again and keeps coming up with the same answer. Five grand for one night is nothing to sneeze at. "Come on, Alexander. I know all about your thing for--"

"Stop there if you value your life." The cool voice cuts the air between them, and Dominic blinks. Something's penetrated, though Clark thinks it might be the fact that his knee's stuck behind the armrest and he can't quite figure out why his legs won't move him forward. "Get out."

"Alex--"

"Out now or I'll throw you."

With a frown, Dominic tries to turn on his heel and loses his balance. Clark fights the urge to laugh as the man tumbles onto the floor, spilling the remainder of his drink. Alexander doesn't look amused at all.

It's a long few minutes as Dominic finds his limbs and gets them in some sort of order, but the stupid grin never fades, and that makes Clark nervous. Climbing to his feet, Dominic waves his hand at Clark. "Be good to him. You're being very well paid."

Yes, restate the obvious. Almost sighing, Clark watches the man leave in an ungraceful heap and wonders if he'll make it to the limo outside without collapsing.

Alexander turns back to spear him with a very unhappy look.

"Tell me this is a practical joke."

"Um. No. Unless he pays really well for them." Clark knows enough not to fidget--Alexander looks primed to break something at the drop of a hat and Clark's not up to trying to work through whatever issues are going on here that he doesn't know about.

Sighing, Alexander glances at the door, turning the lock. "Okay. First off, sit down. I don't--he *bought* you?" The shock's not dissipating. Apparently, Alexander doesn't pay for company.

Clark still doesn't wince. "I think we've established that."

"I don't believe this." Pacing by him, Alexander goes to the small bar beside the desk, picking up a fresh glass. "I do believe it, actually. Of all the--" Alexander stops, glancing briefly around the room, eyes narrowing as if he's looking for something. "All right. Name?"

"Clark."

Alexander nods, dropping a cube of ice into the glass before walking to the desk, leaning back against it. The wood maybe has some kind of really magical confidence-making properties, because Lex seems to snap out of whatever shock he's been in, now looking more thoughtful than anything.

"What did he pay you?"

"Five thousand for the night," Clark answers almost by rote. 

Alexander's eyebrows raise. "That's impressive. But Dominic wouldn't know street price if it hit him in the ass, either. What is it, exactly, he purchased?"

Shifting, Clark looks at the chair he's been ignoring, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Lex gesture. "Sit. This is uncomfortable enough. Want something to drink?"

"No, I can't--" Right. Maybe not a good time to bring up the age thing? Clark settles into the heavy leather and almost sighs at how good it feels. "Not while working."

"Smart boy." And Alexander actually seems to mean it. "Paid up front or after completion?"

"Up front."

"The man's a moron. Or you're a very good negotiator. Maybe both." Alexander shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink before relaxing, pushing a palm into the desk and hopping on the surface like a kid. He seems younger now, and Clark revises his opinion of his age down a few years. "Now, what did that money purchase exactly?"

Straightening, Clark considers his responses. "Specifically or in general? Sex."

"Limits?"

Clark watches Alexander watch him. "Sort of vague. He said you'd respect it if I was uncomfortable with something you wanted to do."

Alexander snickers. "Yes, he would say that. This explains a lot about his perpetual lack of money, if this is how he always closes deals." Taking another drink, Alexander seems to consider something. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen." He's never been called on it yet. 

"How long have you been doing this?" Alexander seems genuinely interested, but that isn't exactly new. Everyone seems interested, for some bizarre reason that Clark can't quite wrap his mind around. Every customer asks that question, and every one of them actually acts like the answer means something

"A year or so." Clark waits as Alexander takes another drink of alcohol, trying to think of something to say. "Look, I--"

Alexander waves his glass idly. He doesn't spill any. Clark shuts his mouth and waits as Alexander frowns, obviously thinking hard about something. Sliding off the desk, he pads cat-soft to the chair, and Clark stares up into very blue eyes, something shifting in them that makes Clark's breath catch.

Then the slim body's in his lap, warm hands on his face, tilting his head up. The kiss is completely unexpected--slow, warm, soft, a wet tongue slicking his mouth, drawing patterns into the roof of his mouth, and his body has no idea what is going on now but reacts anyway.

Just as fast, Lex pulls back, head tilted. The expression is completely unreadable.

"You're lying." Sitting back, Alexander studies him again. "Let's try this again. How old are you?"

Clark swallows hard. He knows he can lie again, but not when this man already knows the answer. "Sixteen."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"A few months," Clark whispers, feeling strangely trapped. "Since--since late summer. I don't remember exactly when."

"When Dominic hired you, did you tell him you'd never actually done anything?"

"I have--" Clark stops, blinking. No point.. "He knew that. I--he came looking for me specifically."

Alexander nods, like he expected that. "Virgin, right?"

Clark grinds his teeth. "Not--not exactly."

"In this day and age, you'd think that question wouldn't be so complex, would you?" Bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, Alexander considers him, head tilted. "Have you fucked anyone?"

"No."

"Been fucked?"

"*No.*"

"Sucked off?"

For some reason, and Clark has no idea why, he flushes. "Sometimes. Not often since. Before."

"Before--"

"These--there's these guys. That pay. Just to." He's blushing and he thought he'd gotten over this, but then again, he's never had to *talk* about it. It was all indirect, polite euphemisms. Quiet bathroom stalls with well dressed, middle aged, extremely sexually freaked out men. Bizarre, if he thinks about it too much, so he doesn't. "To--"

"Blow you?" Clark sees a hint of a smile curve Alexander's mouth. "Yes. You're pretty. I can see the attraction." The blue eyes look him over again. "He knew that, right?"

"Yes."

"No wonder the price was so high." Alexander watches him. "Is that why?'

Taking a deep breath, Clark nods. "Yeah. He said--he said you'd like that."

"He knows me surprisingly well." Alexander frowns again, then slides off Clark's lap. Clark wonders if he should be glad. "Come on. Dominic's gone by now and I don't feel like continuing this in my office."

Oh. *Oh*. Clark's legs feel leaden, but he's--a professional. Thing. Don't say the word. His feet slide into a relatively normal position on the floor and he stands up, trying to find that blank place again. It starts like this.

*Lana, Chloe, Pete, Whitney, George, Nell, Brittany, Kathy, Matthew, Sarah, Jean, Andrew, Anthony, Doris, Greg.*

"Clark?"

Clark blinks to see Alexander at the door, one hand resting on the doorknob, and shakes himself. Easier, now, to simply follow, down a dark hall and up a staircase, opening on a huge, strangely spartan bedroom. Large windows show all of Metropolis at night, glittering like something out of a magazine picture, but Clark's seen it before. Automatically, his hands go to his throat, starting to unfasten the tie.

*Tina, Stephanie, Amanda, James, Lewis, Sean."

"Stop. Who dressed you?"

"Dominic took me to a tailor--"

*.Anna, Richard, Erica, Gene, Rebecca, Nicholas, Beth, Kathy.*

Alexander's eyes narrow. "Mine, if I know that cut." Shaking his head, Alexander sighs, hand going to the back of his neck again, rubbing slowly. "Go lay down. On the bed," he specifies, like he's not entirely sure Clark knows what he means.

Still dressed? Shoes, definitely not. Clark kicks off his shoes, then surveys the bed, climbing up on the mattress, spread with a thick dark blue comforter, almost black wherever his body presses it. A glance at Alexander, then he scoots up, resting stiffly on the pillow. He's ready. He really is.

Folding his hands, he wonders if he should try and look seductive, but this is just *way* outside his experience. He's not even sure *how* to look seductive--it's never been an issue.

Alexander climbs on the bed, reaching over to open the drawer on the beside table, and Clark wonders if he should start removing clothes. This--isn't how it's supposed to go. Nikita--some of the others--had talked where he could hear. Said some things. It's--

But all that comes out is a remote control and Alexander flips the television on. Clark watches in blank shock as the History Channel comes up.

"Special on Alexander the Great tonight," Alexander remarks. When Clark turns his head to look at him, he sees a slight smile. "It's educational."

People fuck to someone discussing the conquests of Alexander the Great? Clark fixes his gaze straight ahead as the commentator drones on in the most boring voice imaginable.

"Hungry?"

Clark looks over again.

"I--Alexander--"

The other man looks at him carefully, smile widening. "He didn't tell you who I was, did he?"

Well, it hadn't been exactly important. Five grand is five grand period. "I--"

"Most people call me Lex."

Oh. Fuck. There's only one of those around. "Luthor." 

There's moments where you re-evaluate everything you know or thought you knew, and this is one of them. Lex. Luthor. Lionel Luthor's only son, heir of the entirety of LuthorCorp, and, rumor has it, the reason that Metropolis at one time had the best grade meth on the planet.

"Got it in one. Though the building should have clued you in, I'm guessing Dominic brought you up from garage level, so you might not have seen where you were." Smiling, Alexander--Lex--stretches, a hugely satisfied cat in charcoal grey. He even seems to purr. "Now, right above the television, I want you to look up and smile."

"What--" This can't get any more bizarre. It just can't. Looking at what appears to be some sort of dwarfed grandfather clock, Clark smiles and then looks back at Lex.

"That's where the cameras are. Dominic knows exactly how old you are."

Clark freezes. "Cameras?"

Lex nods, completely at ease. "The better for the Inquisitor to have good material. For my oh so triumphant return to Metropolis to fuck an underage male prostitute. Did Dominic feed you before you got here?"

Clark tries to find something to say to that, but nothing's coming up. Following along is kind of like keeping up with a windstorm. No way to deal. "He's--trying to--but your--I thought he worked for your--father."

"Yes, there's that." Unconcerned, Lex shifts the pillow behind him, reclining comfortably before answering. "I'll be interested in seeing how this plays out. You like Gouda?"

"Gouda?"

"Cheese. Never mind, I'll tell them to bring up whatever's on hand in the kitchen." Reaching for the phone, eyes fixed on the television as the commentator makes disinterested noises regarding land acquisitions in Asia, Lex dials a few numbers and leans back again. A few short orders, and then Lex is absorbed in watching something about cavalry, and Clark tries to put this together.

"Are we--I mean, going to--"

"Nah." Lex waves a hand airily. "Not really interested."

Okay, what? Clark finds himself stiffening for completely different reasons, and the stupidest imaginable, because--it stings a little. No, he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to do this, but--but he was *supposed* to do it, one, and two, he'd thought--Lex had *kissed* him and--

"It's not personal or due to your profession," Lex says, like he's reading Clark's mind. When Clark's head turns, he sees the blue eyes fixed on him with something a lot like amusement. Even more annoying. "It's--kind of the principle of the thing."

"The principle." Clark recognizes something scary in his own voice--kindergarten teachers sound a lot like that when their students are telling about the time they ran after fairies with swords. 

"Yeah, pretty much. You know, I'm not in the mood to stay home. Did Dominic buy you anything but that suit?" Lex sits up, reaching for the phone again.

"Uh, no. I don't think so."

"Pity. You're too tall--but we have time to do a little shopping." Dialing again, Lex lifts the phone to his ear. "Cancel that. We'll be going out tonight. And you're all fired. Security will show you out."

It's obvious that Clark's trapped with someone not completely sane. Slowly sitting up, Clark watches Lex bounce to the floor, suddenly possessed of the manic energy usually reserved for preschoolers, and okay, this is just *weird*.

"Um--Mr. Luthor--"

"Lex." Wide, white smile. He's--almost bouncing. Clark tries to remember everything he's ever heard of Lex Luthor, but none of it seems to fit what he's seeing. "Mr. Luthor is my father, Alexander is no longer in service, so Lex. Get up. Shoes on. We're going out."

* * *

If Clark had said "twelve but very well-grown", Lex probably would have believed him.

Too tall, too awkward, staring around him with wide, utterly surprised eyes; he's almost a stereotype if you forget his profession. Which frankly, Lex has a hard time visualizing, and in all things sexual, visualization has never been a problem. Especially with someone that looks like that.

And also looks like he should be in some sort of school setting. Playing football. Whatever boys his age do under normal circumstances. Though Lex is kind of hazy on the concept of normal.

"Lex." The brunette's hands settle on his hips, and Lex wonders when exactly clubbing became so boring that he spends quality time watching a kid quietly freak out. "Whatcha thinking?"

God, wouldn't she be amused to know. Confused. Something. He tries to remember her name.

"Nothing." It's more dismissive than he likes, and she retreats almost instantly. And that, Lex Luthor, is easy sex backing off. You, my friend, need to get your ass on straight. 

Before the thought finishes, though, Lex watches Clark react to a pretty blonde climbing into his lap. The outright panic is almost funny--no, scratch that, it *is* funny, hands coming up without touching, like he's worried he'll leave incriminating fingerprints on her skin. She's good, though, catching him in a fast, messy kiss that makes both hands close on the edge of the stool in shock.

So right, club boring, but Clark, very interesting, and it may say a lot about the current state of his life that he's finding this the most entertaining night since his return to Metropolis. Picking up his drink, Lex slowly winds his way through the clumps of people, smiling when it seems appropriate. The blonde is gone when he finally arrives at the table.

Clark's hand is on his mouth like he tasted something *really* weird.

"You okay?"

Green eyes flicker to him, and there's not a little desperation there. "Fine. Um. Great."

"So I noticed." She's already found more receptive game, apparently--leaning into the table, Lex gives the dance floor a quick view. 

"Um--they all your friends?" Clark sounds dubious. No, definitely not a stupid kid.

"No. Acquaintances, classmates, etcetera." Clark nods slowly, reaching for the plain water he'd ordered. No alcohol. Of course not. Lex takes another drink and fixes his gaze on the floor, aware Clark's watching him with that puzzled expression again.

And yes, he supposes, to Clark, it is puzzling. Instead of vaguely non-enthusiastic sex--some things you can't hide no matter how hard you try, and Clark's not an expert at lying by any stretch--they're spending the night in a club doing--really, nothing even vaguely interesting. 

"Enjoying yourself?"

A bright pink tongue slips out, licking full lips quickly, and Lex lets himself look since he's not letting himself touch. Little things, he thinks, wishing he'd started off with something a little stronger in the way of drinks. Dominic knows him way too well.

This should have been a good night. Skin of his teeth kind of thing, but he has his degree and he can tell Dad to fuck himself if he chooses. LuthorCorp isn't the world, not Lex's, and he's had time. Time to think and decide and grow and doubtless one of his childhood psychologists would be making soothing noises about breakthroughs and getting over the parental yoke, but Lex isn't too sure that anything's actually been *done*. 

He's marking time in a club with an underage boy instead of *doing*. And maybe these last two years still haven't really changed anything.

"I guess so." Clark's voice is soft, barely heard beneath the heavy beat of the music. Lex wants to be irritated--Jesus, the kid works the streets for a living, so a little enthusiasm isn't too much to ask for, is it? Enthusiasm, hell. He's getting paid for a night of doing nothing more taxing than looking pretty on a stool. A few sharp words simmer on the edge of his tongue, but he swallows them down, taking another slow drink as he scans the room.

Small talk would smooth things a little, but God above, what the hell does he say? How's business--even Lex isn't that crass, not unless he's a lot more drunk than he is right now. A lot more drunk than he plans on being anytime soon. He can't help the touch though--just a brush on smooth skin, over the sleeve of his shirt. He can't miss the way Clark stiffens, either.

"I'm not going to hurt you." It comes out harsher than he meant it to.

Clark's expression closes off, light going out behind his eyes like a candle being snuffed out. "I don't get hurt easily."

Not in any way except this. He should let the kid go--he has the money already, and at least tonight, he won't have to worry about shelter. Though it begs the question where a sixteen year old lives. No pimp, obviously--and God knows, if anyone ever probably needed one, this kid would be it. 

Silky hair slips across Lex's arm, and he turns just enough to look into dark eyes, glittering at him from beneath black lashes. "Anna."

"Nice to see you home, Lex." Southern drawl inherited from her mother, a rich lilt beneath that always, always makes him hard. Circling around him, fingertips just touching his shoulder, she gives him a slow smile, red lips parting just enough to engage a few memories. "Company?"

Lex doesn't have to look at Clark to know he's staring. God knows, Anna's worth a look or two.

"A friend. Clark, Anna." Her lazy appraisal reminds him too much of himself, but even more blatant. She's used to getting what she wants when she wants it. Lacquered nails slide from his shoulder, cutting thin lines into his bare arm, and shit, he'd forgotten her tricks. "I thought you were in New York."

"Home for a bit while Daddy tries to screw with my trust fund again." She pouts, but her eyes linger on Clark. Wet dreams have started with a lot less than this combination. "Can I borrow him, Lex? Promise to bring him back safe and sound."

A glance at Clark shows a combination of shock and protest, but not necessarily unwillingness. He's a kid, Lex thinks again, and Anna's out of the league of most adults. "Play nice?"

The cut of her nails brings blood, and Lex sucks in a slow breath as she smiles. "Always." Her eyes are back on Clark. "Want to dance?"

One look at Lex, but Clark stands up, slow and awkward. He doesn't move like he has any idea music's anything but something you listen to. Anna's not really interested in that, though---the long fingers close over his hand, pulling him with her, and Lex settles back to watch.

Since, fucking stupid principles, he can't actually touch.

Everyone and no one's watching--Clark's a novelty to a set that's fucked together since puberty, pretty enough to bring glances, but Anna chasing down new game is old hat. Lex sips his drink as Anna slips her arms around Clark's waist, drawing him close, and Lex watches the dark eyes widen before his face goes blank--a curiously still expression, like he's somewhere else entirely, and maybe the awkwardness is all show, because Anna's teaching him to move and he's doing it well.

Awkwardness shed when she leans back, exposing the long, bare line of her throat, one long leg settling between his. Big hands on her waist, slipping up her back, and they move together perfectly, it's not quite sex, but it's very close.

It's kind of depressing that this is possibly as close to getting laid as Lex is going to get tonight.

Maybe he's just tired.

Or bored.

He should plan Dominic's demise. Something creative involving spoons and wild chickens. Humiliating way to die. The obituary would be good for years of entertainment. 

He should plan how to tell his father he won't be working for him. His trust fund will keep him comfortably supported for the rest of his life, and God knows, he's second generation money. He almost has an obligation to be a useless drain on society and maybe start obscure philanthropies for tax purposes. Put his name back in the papers, fulfill predictions, and so the hell what if he were to be caught with an underage prostitute, that's what he *does*.

None of it, though, sounds appealing.

Maybe something has changed.

* * *

Lex follows Clark outside, hiding a grin at Anna's expression when Clark slips away, gone before she has time to protest. She's not used to that, he thinks, draining his glass, curious. Clark didn't strike him as a junkie, and technically, he's on the clock.

But Clark hasn't gone any farther than out the back door, leaning into the wall like he's just escaped Sodom and Gomorrah and watched someone turn into a pillar of salt before his eyes. He's also sweating through the thin shirt, green eyes closed against the night. Maybe imagining he's anywhere but here.

Lex can sympathize. He doesn't want to, but he can. "Hey."

Clark's head turns, ungodly fast. "Sorry. I just needed some air." Pushing off the wall, he steps toward Lex at the door. The kid doesn't do enthusiastic well at all. Lex wonders if he's any better at it in bed. 

"Don't worry about it." The cooler night air reminds him that autumn's falling into winter faster than he wants to admit. That'll make it his longest stay in Metropolis since he got kicked out of MetU, with no end in sight. "Not your sort of thing?"

Clark gives him a sidelong glance. "Not--this kind of place, no." No, Lex thinks. Upscale enough to have its backroom called private rooms that have conveniently bolted tables and thick doors. Just looking at him, Lex tries to pull it together. There's no way he buys that this kid's been doing this long. Or that well. The look around his eyes is still too raw, like he's still feeling every second of it. Lex feels the more jaded of them, suddenly, and it's--strange. 

"You don't have to stay." It trips out of his mouth without checking in at his head--but really, he's not planning to fuck him, is he? "I--you have somewhere to go, right?"

Clark looks so startled that Lex wonders if he's suddenly grown horns. "I have a place." 

"Occupied at the moment?" Because it's night, and he doubts Clark is living with someone who has a normal job. 

Clark flushes bright red. Jesus. Who the hell let him out without a keeper? "Yeah. Until morning. Sort of the agreement. With my roommates."

"Logical." There's no reason to keep up conversation. It's not like the kid's the most brilliant conversationalist ever. And it's cold. Thin leather and sweat and a chilling breeze in an abandoned alley at a time of night sane people are in bed. "Do you need a ride?"

Clark almost smiles. "I'm good." He turns, pauses, looking over his shoulder like he can't quite believe Lex is letting him go. "You sure?"

Yes. And yes again. And no, I'm not. Lex draws in a deep breath. He wants him to stay, and it's--ridiculous. "If you need anything--?" The words tumble out of his mouth, and he has no idea where they came from.

"I know my way home." 

Do you? But Lex nods, pushing the door back open, going back inside, not even allowing himself a single look at the broad back disappearing into the street. The lights and the heat are like a wool blanket after the cool onside, and somewhere, Anna's wondering what happened to her latest toy. He could fuck her tonight and think of that pretty boy. She will be. It would at least be consistent, if not the most interesting his life has ever been.

He didn't come back to Metropolis for this. He just wishes he knows why he did.

He doesn't see Clark again for three months.

* * *

Lex is a magnet for trouble.

It's in the newspapers that Clark sometimes glances at in the gutters or in coffee shops. Lex Luthor in a third of the headlines, or so it seems. Maybe it's just that more people buy when a Luthor does something.

There's that girl, Anna, once--Clark recognized her face when he was leaving a trick's apartment and stopped for juice to wash the taste from his mouth. Spread out on the table, buried beneath the sports section, just Lex and the side of her face, a tell-all interview promised beneath. Something about pregnancy and DNA testing and Lex not commenting. He doesn't comment often, but he smirks a lot. Clark thinks of the tired-eyed man he left in the alley and wonders how they can be so different.

It's silly to feel that little spark of--something. Familiarity? Maybe. Like he *knows* Lex, when all he really knows is that Lex doesn't fuck bought boys. Or maybe it was just him. Clark takes a drink of coffee, setting it just beyond the edge of the latest issue. There's not a picture of Lex, just a penthouse in the background, paramedics, and the hints of a bodybag from a society boy taking a long jump from the roof, thinking he could fly, all in greytone.

It--isn't Lex.

And speak of the very devil, walking down the street. Incognito, in that way that's like a sign, saying "Look at me! I'm someone interesting! Figure out who I am!" Grey wool hat covering his head, collar turned up with grey scarf over, completely appropriate for the cold weather, maybe, but still. The gait's as unmistakable as the lack of hair, and while Lex may be able to hide one, he can't hide the other.

Clark takes a slow sip of coffee and watches. It's not like Lex can see him through the coffee shop window. And if Lex could, he probably wouldn't recognize Clark, not after all this time.

Wrapping his hands around the cup, Clark takes in the warmth. He might not get cold, but that doesn't change the simple pleasure of it. A quiet coffee shop in the afternoon, like being home in Smallville. He can't remember the last time he was awake during the day, much less having time just to sit and breathe. Nothing to do, nowhere he needs to be, and nothing to worry about until sundown, when work starts.

He wonders, just a little, if he'll ever be able to think about it and not flush, not wonder if anyone looks at him and sees it on his face, written into his skin. There are a lot of words for what he does, and he's heard them all and then some. Somehow, he'd have thought by now, he'd be used to it. And somehow, he never is.

And *that's* a great way to spend his free afternoon, thinking about things he can't change. Lifting the cup, Clark takes another sip of coffee and tunes out the world. Warm coffee, warm shop, a little more money than he usually has to spend, and a place where no one's going to ask him to do--anything. Any of that. Almost like being normal. 

"Is this seat taken?"

Blinking, Clark looks up. "Um. No." Lex just stands there, looking at him from beneath thick lashes, pink cheeked and still shivering beneath the heavy wool of his coat. He looks--amused. Confident. Very cold. "Sure. Go ahead."

And how did he miss Lex coming in?

"Thanks," Lex says, slipping off the coat, scarf, and hat, seating himself in a liquid slide into the chair. A waitress, probably attracted by the beacon of the bald head and reputation for money, sidles over a hell of a lot faster than she came to Clark. "Latte, thanks," Lex says, before she even opens her mouth, then leans both arms onto the table. "Clark."

"You remember." It sounds so *stupid* coming out of his mouth, but he can't help it. 

"It's hard to forget a birthday present like that." The corner of Lex's mouth twitches when Clark does. "How've you been?"

Clark pulls his hands from his mug before he breaks it. "Good." Sometimes. Mostly. Maybe. But what else can he say? Staring at his hands, Clark wonders why Lex sat down here. It can't be for the stimulating conversation. 

A few hundred headlines run through his head, like an advertisement for the Worst Conversational Fodder Ever. Picking up his coffee mug might be dangerous, but at least it gives him something to do.

"Great weather, hmm?" 

Clark's eyes jerk up. Lex is laughing at him, just with that crooked smile. "Sorry. I--you know. Nothing's going on." Nothing that can be said in civilized places like a coffee shop, nothing he wants to talk about anyway. What's been going on? I don't want to think about it. I don't want to remember it. I don't want you here to remind me. The last part's unfair. If he's honest, Lex is the best trick-not-a-trick he's had.

"Understandable." Lex smiles up at the waitress and takes the offered coffee cup, sipping briefly before dismissing her with another smile when it looks like she wants to hang around. "I've--wondered how you've been doing." 

Clark finds that unlikely as hell, almost as unlikely as Lex recognizing him. On the other hand, Lex *did*. "Good." Not bad. Not terrible, not like those first months. Nothing like that. "You?"

Lex's eyes flicker down, and Clark realizes he still has the latest *Inquisitor* spread out on the table in front of him, in plain view. Oh man. "Not too bad myself." A gloved hand reaches out, pulling it gently. "Third paternity suit this month, now this. It has to be a record in number of appearances."

It should be if it isn't. Clark feels his mouth tugging, trying to curl up to match Lex's smile. It *is* funny. "Um. What are you doing here?" Because this isn't an area of town he'd think Lex would be around much. At least, not during the day. God knows, he's heard enough about what Lex does with his nights. In retrospect, he's almost surprised he hasn't seen Lex around before now in one of the clubs.

"For the coffee," Lex says, and it's such a lie. Lex's grins suddenly, and he's like a teenager, maybe, with that smile. Just weird, and it makes Clark grin, too. "I needed some time to think." He motions out the window. "I saw you, thought I'd drop by and say hi."

Think? "If you're seen--" With me, he doesn't say. He hasn't been arrested yet, but it's been a close thing. And it's not like the underside of Metropolis isn't the equivalent of a village. Someone who knows what Clark is could see them. And--

"Don't worry about it." Lex glances casually out the window. "I have some--people around." Clark follows Lex's gaze, but it looks like any other street in the world. A few people going by, but it's cold, so not many. He frowns, looking harder. "If they were seen, they wouldn't be good at their job, now would they?" 

Well, true. Clark lets himself relax a little, taking a sip of coffee. Maybe Lex is here for job-related purposes? Clark feels himself stiffen. Saw him through the window, thought of the convenience, wants to--wants to--

"And I'm not here to offer employment," Lex says. The smile doesn't fade from his mouth, but it does from his eyes, and he leans back, nursing the cup between gloved hands. Clark feels himself flush under the cooling regard. "I prefer my partners to at least pretend that they want to fuck me."

"It's not that." Or maybe it is, but not the way Lex thinks. Clark tries desperately not to crush the mug. "It's--it's just a job. It's not--" Personal. There's no way he can say it that doesn't make it sound insane. It's *sex*. It's supposedly fun. Even his roommates enjoy it, at least sometimes. And they always look at him weird when he tries to tell them that he--doesn't. Not really. "I just. I'm sorry. It's not you."

"Just men or both?"

He can't help the flush. "Both. Sometimes." A threesome he's never going to be able to wash out of his mind. He wants to shower just remembering it. "I. It's just me. I don't really--" Like sex. No teenage boy in history, no matter how weird, would say that. I don't like sex with people who don't see me. I don't like sex where I don't even feel like I'm there. And God, does he wish Lex hadn't seen him.

The coolness fades, though. "It can't be easy for you, doing that." Doing *that*. In nice urban coffee shops, you don't call it what it is. And so very much not what Clark wants to think about. Talk about. All of that. Finishing his mug, he tries on a grin.

"It was good seeing you again." And hopefully, never again. He doesn't like pity, and he's beginning to feel it, radiating from Lex like heat.

"Clark--"

"It's just getting late." Clark glances out at the cold winter afternoon, folding golden into the west. It's almost time to get started anyway. "I gotta run."

"Clark." A gloved hand closes over his wrist, steel-tight. Clark wishes he had the courage just to jerk away, even if it would show how weird he is in other ways. "You don't have to--"

"Don't." God, stop, stop, stop. "I'm fine. I'm good." Pulling his jacket on, Clark watches the grey eyes try to catch his. Not pity. No pity. He can't stand pity, not here. "I don't need--"

"You can't keep--look, I can help you."

But Clark's already out the door, scarf forgotten, gloves fumbled from his pockets. He waits until he's out of sight of the cafe before he starts to run.

* * *

So it's a matter of not being in the right places, Lex thinks, watching Clark doing his level best to dance. It's embarrassingly bad, or would be, if he wasn't so damn hot, in old, soft jeans that cling to his thighs and ass, a tiny, too-tight t-shirt that rides up just a little, exposing a slip of his stomach. Hypnotic to watch.

It's not stalking, not exactly, not if he had wanted to come here anyway, and Clark just gave him a better excuse. It's--serendipity. Another word, longer, that he'd use if he hadn't done six shots in one hour. A pleasant buzz is circling his head, but it takes a lot more alcohol than this to get him anywhere near as plastered as he wants to be.

It's not every day, after all, that Lex watches someone die. Luthor money erases everyone's memories but his. 

Fuck. And he wasn't going to think about that any more. A motion brings the bartender with another shot, and Lex pushes himself farther back in a corner of the bar beneath the broken alcove lighting, stool tilting precariously so he can lean into the wall. The better to watch. From their chat this afternoon, Clark isn't showing a lot of enthusiasm for his presence.

He still wonders if he regrets not fucking Clark when they met. It's not like he can't just walk up and offer now, except--he *knows* him. In a way that's not knowing him at all. Too familiar to buy sex. Not familiar enough to ask for a casual fuck.

Watching isn't nearly enough, but he'll take what he can get.

A wave gets another shot, and Lex thinks of all the ways that this is just the kind of pathetic display his father would mock. Drinking by himself in a bar, so very maudlin, Dad would say, but then again, what does Dad know anyway? Sentenced him to *living* in this godforsaken city, doing his level best to try to cut Lex's access to ready money. Like Lex has any interest at all in puttering around LexCorp at Daddy's heels. 

And damn, he almost missed Clark getting picked up. At least Clark stops dancing, standing stiff and still in the floor, surrounded by oblivious onlookers as the man passes him cash. Pocketing it with the same expressionless cool Lex had glimpsed in the cafe, what the kid hadn't been able to quite pull off when they met. The man's fingers wrap in the waist of the kid's jeans, and there's a second of hesitation before Clark follows him to the back door.

Finishing the shot, Lex stands up, surprised to watch the stool tumble over behind him, even more surprised when his legs feel like following. The room seems to tilt just a little before righting itself, soaking everything in a golden haze of warm nostalgia. The desperately dancing crowd, broken lights, inoperable fire escape, thick smoke--it's like being sixteen again and not giving a shit. It's just twenty-two and knowing it's never going to be different. Right now, he just doesn't care.

And maybe he wants to see what he missed when he said no to Clark.

The alley outside is an improvement, at least in smell--Metropolis prides itself on being clean, even in the slums. Snowy brick beneath his boots, freezing air all around him, numbing his nose instantly, cutting even through the cashmere line of his gloves. Clark, still on in thin shirt and jeans, is pushed up against the wall, and the thing that Lex thinks first is, he's got to be freezing.

Freezing, standing like that, jeans pushed down to just below his ass, eyes shut tight, hands fisted against the brick. Lex freezes in place as he watches the guy slick himself and push into Clark as casually as Lex buys a car.

The look of shock in wide green eyes burns away the haze of alcohol and decadence and nostalgia. It's a cramped alley ten feet from a dumpster, a sixteen year old kid pushed into a wall, and Lex realizes he's watching Clark lose his cherry right here.

When Clark's head turns, surprised eyes finding Lex, he wonders why he came outside at all.

Sex is--sometimes this. Lex remembers nights where his partners were faceless and formless, something hot and slick and tight around his cock, but he never saw himself when he did it. The man's hand casually braced on the wall, the other pushing Clark's face into the brick with a flattened palm, as coolly staged as a movie set, eyes closed, unaware of the way Clark's hands clench and release, the way he bites his lip, the bruised eyes that stare into Lex's, daring him to comment. 

Or maybe wondering why he's watching at all.

And Christ, Lex is getting hard from this. He knows the second Clark sees it--an open coat and soft leather hide so few sins, and Lex hasn't ever wanted to hide it before. Clark's so fucking *pretty*, even like this, moving so his forearms brace him better for every rough thrust, regular as clockwork, flushing bright as a new apple, and that just makes it better. Hotter. Sicker, maybe, but that's nothing new.

Dark lashes shut out the world when the man comes, stumbling a little at the trick's quick pull out, quick zip and button, and the man walks away, vanishing into the dark. Maybe a cue for Lex to leave, too, and show a little damn tact. He doesn't though, just watches Clark's slow, deep breaths, the slow turn before he starts pulling up his jeans, dark head bent, too-long hair hiding his face.

"That's not safe," Lex hears himself say, and not even acid could make this moment more surreal. "Condoms--"

Clark laughs harshly, like someone who's been smoking for days. "That's--the least of my problems." Shaking hands button up the jeans, palms skidding down his hips afterward, like his own touch sickens him. Clark stares into the building across from him for a few long minutes afterward, breath slowing, every muscle stiff. He's still flushed. "You want to go next?"

Yes. Christ. "No, I didn't--" That's not why I'm here. That's exactly what I want. Alcohol and bile burn the back of his tongue. "Are you okay?"

Blank green eyes stare into the air three feet in front of Lex. "Sure." Finally pushing off the wall, he takes a step, stumbling slightly on the uneven brick, but he hardly seems to notice. And Lex can move then, finally, but Clark moves too fast--how does he do that?--inches outside his reach and obviously wanting to stay there. 

There aren't words to describe the way Clark looks now. I should have, Lex thinks. I could have. That night. Just us. Not like this. Nothing like this. "Clark--"

Clark turns awkwardly "I gotta go." 

"I can help--"

"I don't--need your pity."

Christ. Lex forces himself not to move as Clark walks away, the tiniest hitch in his step, like he's not sure enough of his own legs to risk anything faster. 

He's out of sight before Lex rubs a palm over his cock, eyes closing. 

Lex can't even hear his boots when he bends over to throw up.

* * *

The apartment's almost quiet when he stumbles home. Opening the cabinet door, he drops a wad of bills into the old coffee can on the second shelf, closing the lid with one hand that's not quite steady, pushing the cabinet closed again with his elbow. Marian left him a sandwich on the cheap folding table with a can of soda, a note taped to the top. 

\--Your turn on groceries. Hope you had a good night!--

The grocery list's tucked beneath the plate. Clark eats standing up, automatically washing the plate afterward. The room he shares with Randall's empty. Clark thinks he and Marian won't be seeing him again. It's like that sometimes. Marian told him, after Simon vanished. Clark searched half the city, finding him shooting up on the lower east side with no one Clark recognized. Clark thought about going in, but Simon had looked happy. Happier than he'd ever been in the apartment, anyway.

He hasn't seen him since, but then again, he hasn't looked very hard.

"Hey." A sleepy voice turns him around. Marian is a wreck of messy blonde hair and smeared eyeliner, absently pulling at the hem of her t-shirt. The cordless phone is in one shaky hand. "Good night?"

Clark thinks of the money in the can. "Yeah. Pretty good. You?" She's almost old enough to be his mother, though looks can be deceiving. Sighing, she rubs long-nailed fingers beneath her eyes. "Something wrong?"

"Randall won't be coming back." She pauses, looking at him for a second. Clark almost asks why, but his teeth clench together over the words.

"Oh." He wants her to stop looking at him, wants her to go back to her room, wants a shower and a shave and wants to--God, do anything but stand here, staring at her.

"It's nothing." She puts the phone on the charger, pulling at the stretched waist of her flannel pajama bottoms with nervous fingers. She's been twitchy for days. "He just decided to try his luck in LA, that's all."

Clark nods slowly. The feeling of numb surprise hasn't ended, but he thinks it will soon. It's been like moving in honey since he left the alley--two quick blowjobs downtown that he can barely remember, and the rest of the night wandering. They'd needed the money so badly.

"Clark?"

Especially now, with Randall gone. Clark takes a deep breath, thinking of the can in the cabinet. It's not like either of them can get tricks every night, or even most nights. Marian has a cigarette habit, and he doesn't need to ask her about the pipe in her bedside drawer, because he knows what she spends half her money on every month. They need a plumber for the kitchen sink, like the landlord will ever get around to fixing the problem. It's their second week without central heat. He might not notice, but Marian's starting to get a cough, and it isn't going away.

God, he hates this place.

"Five hundred." He watches her eyebrows go up, then the faded blue eyes drop, fixing on some point beyond his shoulder. "We'd better--" He stops, wondering when he stopped being the one told what to do, when he started being the one who paid the rent and checked to make sure she didn't dip out too much extra on a slow night from the can. When he started coping like this, like it's not all some bad dream, or temporary or--

There's nothing *temporary* about it. Not now. Not anymore.

"Clark?" Her thin hand touches his shoulder, pulling back before the barest brush. She'd told him how to do it, how to do all of it, but she'd never been able to teach him to enjoy it. He gets the feeling she hasn't enjoyed it in years. "Clark, you didn't have to--not if you weren't ready--"

He would never have been ready for any of it if that was his criteria. "It's okay." He wants his bed even more than he wants a shower. It's not like being clean changes anything. It's not like--it's not like cold water and soap can--will--

"Clark, sit down." Her voice seems to come from too far away, and Clark turns to the couch blindly, dropping on the blanket-covered arm, trying to find a way to breathe through it. Back alleys and backrooms aren't real. Sometimes, even this room isn't real, and he's been living here for nearly a year. "You want something to drink?" He can hear her banging through the cupboards and almost smiles, because she knows it takes weapons-grade alcohol to do a damn thing for him. It'd be so easy to pick up a habit just as expensive as Marian's, even if a completely different kind. 

The warmth helps, though, washing the sour taste of other men's come from his mouth, tingling down his throat. Reminds him that all he's had is a sandwich to eat in the last twenty-four hours. And coffee. Can't forget the coffee.

Cradling the glass, Clark rests his elbows on his knees, eyes closed as he tries to pull it together. The last time he freaked out, he'd scared her to death. He can't do that again. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, sweetie." Her hand touches his hair, then firms on his shoulder, urging him down onto the couch, where she can put both thin arms around him, bathing him in the smell of the drugstore perfume she likes so much, sickly with artificial gardenias, below it the more natural smell of sleep-sweat. "It's okay. It's nothing. It's just a job. That's all it is."

She told him that before he gave his first blowjob. She sat beside him afterward while he threw up just outside their apartment building, sick to his stomach, thinking he'd be tasting it forever. Long before she knew how weird he was, before she even knew his real name. She'd put him in her bed and told him he could stay as long as he wanted to. 

She'd taught him everything she knew, and sometimes, he wishes she'd left him when she found him, that she hadn't been so worried about the wide-eyed kid she'd stumbled over one very bad night.

"I just--I--" He stops, keeping his eyes closed, swallowing in a suddenly dry throat. "It--wasn't bad. I mean, he didn't--do anything weird."

"Doing it the regular way is weird enough when you haven't before." She strokes back his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead before reaching over to the coffee table, picking up the whiskey. "Hold out your glass."

Another smaller drink, and his head starts feeling less--spacey. More real. The coffee table she got from the thrift shop down the road, almost new in bright wood-colored plastic. The rug that covers the cheap, peeling linoleum. Dank yellow walls, spotted with water damage and age. He keeps thinking he'll make enough one day to buy paint and redo it, but he's never quite gotten around to it. It's not that bad, he thinks, taking another small sip, tasting it this time. She must have fortified this with something stronger--grain alcohol maybe, the stuff the guys downstairs make in the basement that the landlord pretends he doesn't know about. Just enough for him to feel it a little, blurring the edges of things enough to deal with it.

"Clark?"

"I'm--okay." It's just sex, he thinks, remembering the times he's followed Marian, because sometimes when she's high, she doesn't choose good marks. And sometimes, they're not very nice. And sometimes, just sometimes, Clark has to remind them that they're paying to fuck her, not to hurt her. There's never been a news report about it or anything, and that's not a surprise, really, but sometimes, he's seen the men after. Knowing the way they limp by with downcast eyes is because of him, and that they'll never touch another woman on the street and not remember.

It should make him wonder, he thinks, that *that* bothers him less than fucking for money. It should make him wonder even more that the idea of going out with her and picking her tricks out himself when she's high has become more tempting. It's like he's lost every landmark of right and wrong, or what he will or won't do.

Carefully, he slides an arm around her shoulders, leaning back into the couch. God, he feels old. And tired. And he--needs to sleep. So does she, if the circles under her eyes are any sign. "You should get some sleep."

She nods against his shoulder but doesn't move. "Tell me."

Right. "Just a guy from Ecstasy. Three hundred for a quickie in the alley. No one I've seen before." And Lex, standing there, watching. It'd made it easier, somehow, to bite his lip against the 'no', stand there and take the foreign heat of a cock up his ass. Easier to blink away the unbelief he was doing this, if only so Lex wouldn't see.

And what had he said when he met Lex? Been fucked? No. Fucked anyone? No. He's done both, and he's sure it's changed him, but he's so far from the kid from Smallville, or the kid in LuthorCorp Towers that it's just unreal to even find the common ground. Even then, he hadn't thought--not really--that it would ever get this far. 

Lex hadn't even *wanted* him then.

"Get some sleep," she says, standing up unsteadily. Clark catcher her before she falls over, reading the history of the night in the tight lines around her mouth, the yellow of her bones pressing through thin skin. It hadn't been a good night, and she hasn't had a fix in at least two days.

He's glad he only put half the money in the can. He's almost sure that it won't be there when he wakes up. "Yeah. You too."

With a tired smile, she walks to her bedroom door, closing it carefully behind her. Clark considers the can for a few minutes, adjusting his eyes to peer through plywood, counting the bills absently. Enough for rent, to cover gas and electricity, maybe even for groceries for a week. Enough for other things, too.

Absently, he pulls out a few more bills, getting up to tuck them in the can, then turns off the light with a flick of his fingers and goes to bed.

* * *

Lex helps her find her underwear, lost somewhere beneath the bed, but the shirt's ruined. She just stares at him when he offers to buy her another one, taking the one from his closet that he offers with an incredulous look, like she's wondering if he's still high.

He's *not*, but he wishes he were. He offers breakfast and a ride home, though God alone knows where she lives, but she just shrugs as she pulls on her coat over the lavender silk of his shirt, tied up above her pale belly. The piercing gleams in the faint light from the blinded windows.

"You okay?" she asks, peering at him from beneath thickly mascaraed lashes. Lex nods. "Okay. It's late, I gotta run."

"Let me call you a cab." He wishes the words back almost instantly from the look on her face. Tricks don't, he thinks, almost sighing to himself. And explaining would be an exercise in stupidity. He just doesn't do this enough to know how it's supposed to work. "It's a long way back to where I picked you up." In a limo. She probably expected a lot worse than a night of relatively simple sex, and it shows. She pushes back a handful of dark hair and reaches for her shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull them on. Chunky heels, slightly more practical than the stilettos her compatriots wear, and they leave bigger, blunter bruises on his back and thighs, not tight bloody lines. If she's passed her twentieth birthday, Lex will eat the candles on her birthday cake himself. The short denim skirt slides down to the half-way point of her thigh, and she straightens it as she stands up, wincing a little. Easy sex, maybe, but also lengthy.

"All right." She finds her purse by the door, checking it automatically as he leans over to pick up the phone, feeling immensely strange being the least dressed in the room. The blue-green eyes are sharp; she either has better tolerance than he does, or she didn't take as much as he did. In her profession, he supposes that's pretty smart. When he's done, she smiles, obviously amused. "Thanks. I'll wait--at garage level?"

Lex quirks a grin at the way she tilts her head. "You've been here before?" 

"A few times. LuthorCorp employees pay well." Checking her appearance in the compact she fishes out of her purse, she snaps it shut and nods at him. "Come around anytime." And turning on a heel, she vanishes out the door. Lex sits back on the bed and listens to her shoes clomp down the hall, out into the living room, and out the front door.

He's so glad he dismissed his staff for the weekend. His back aches, but that'll fade before nightfall. The drugs washed out of his system hours ago, leaving him clean and deathly sober in the too-luxurious bedroom, surrounded by the smells of sex and perfume and sweat. An exhausting night to a morning just like any other one in his life, except he's paying for the sex. Which in all honesty, isn't the worst idea he's ever had, no matter what his motivations. There's a lot to be said for a partner that he never has to see again, who doesn't expect any more than the surface. 

His peers are getting more boring by the day. Bored and boring and exhausting and annoying.

The ring of his phone doesn't shift him a single inch. It's Dad again, with a speech on Luthors and destiny, or it's Dominic, who probably knows exactly how he spent his night and is trying to blackmail, or it's something else pointless and ridiculous, and God, if he stays in Metropolis much longer, he won't be jumping off buildings because he thinks he can fly; he'll be doing it to see just how fast he can fall.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Lex pushes himself up, padding to the bathroom. There's a little blood on his chin, and her nails left cuts across his shoulders and back that will be gone by lunch. Nothing ever touches him for long. In a few hours, it'll be like there was never anyone here at all, with a staff to clean up after him and his body erasing the rest of the evidence.

God *dammit*.

Clark wasn't here last night, but he might as well have been. All that dark hair and soft mouth, filling up Lex's mind. Malachite green eyes in that single, shocked expression. It's just--wrong. He should be ashamed of himself, or sickened, or--

"Still in bed, Lex?"

Great. Lex stares at the ceiling blankly. So. From phone calls to house calls.

"At this hour?"

Christ, not the ambiance of greatness speech again.

"You are a disappointment, son."

Oh, that one. "I try." He wishes he were higher. Or not here at all. 

"I thought time in the city under my eye would curb your more--excessive impulses. Apparently, I was wrong." 

Lex lifts his head to look at his father with narrowed eyes. He's in usual emperor-of-the-world pose near the center of the room, the better for sunlight to casually fall around him like a halo. The effect's a little spoiled by the way he twitches. He's mad. Looks like Dominic reported on him already. "Have you thought about a haircut, Dad?"

Lionel's mouth opens; Lex so isn't in the mood for this. "Never mind. Go away. I haven't eaten yet." The very idea of food makes him nauseous. "You can't touch the money mom and Pam left me, you can't get around the strictures of the trust, and I don't give a shit about LuthorCorp." It's a rather freeing thought--he could leave Metropolis if he really wanted to. Dad can make things difficult, but he really can't do *anything* to stop him anymore. "You have nothing I want. Go fuck some socialite to get your heir. I'm *out*."

The silence says more than words ever could.

"Son--"

Lex drops back on the bed, closing his eyes. "I don't *care*." This insanely childish urge to punctuate it with a kick of his feet against the side of the bed. Maybe just yell something at the ceiling about fathers whose sons kill them because dear God, they're boring.

"I should have sent you to Smallville." Lionel's voice is tight. There's the slightest chance he's finally pushed Lionel's temper to the breaking point. Lex is almost tempted to look--he's been waiting for this for *years*. "I should have--"

"Go away, Dad." Rolling on his side, Lex reaches for a pillow and covers his head. Dad can stand there and yell out his lungs if he wants, but damned if it's going to interrupt Lex's sleep. "What on earth could have tempted me to a shitkicker town in the middle of fucking nowhere? Organic farming?"

"A mystery, son."

Lex rolls his eyes under the pillow. Great, the mysteries of the universe speech, second only to destiny as Lionel's favorite topic of conversation. Mysterious Things in this place, rocks here, strangely acting people there, blah blah fucking blah "Whatever."

"Lex, this behavior--" It doesn't look like this is going to wind down, like, ever. Lex draws a deep breath and burrows farther into the blankets. It's going to be a fucking long morning.

* * *

The can's empty when he wakes up; Clark's not surprised. Going through the apartment, Clark checks for their pawnables; gone, too. Shit. He'd been more tired than he thought. With a sinking feeling, he checks his jeans, finding a ten and two ones left. Enough to eat today. Well, at least she was thoughtful about it.

The kitchen's a mess; she must have been starting serious withdrawal before she left. A half-swept broken glass pushed under the table, broom tossed against the wall. She'd started the dishes, but there's blood in the sink from a broken plate. Patiently, Clark straightens it up, tossing the glass into a smaller bag to avoid anyone cutting themselves by accident, even if it's only going in the dumpster downstairs. His head aches a little, a burn directly behind his eyes that's been going off and on for about a week. Marian had offered him some stuff she got from the dealer down the hall, but it had been about as useful as the aspirin he'd used to try back at ho--back in Smallville.

Sometimes being--whatever the hell he was--just sucked. Rubbing his forehead, Clark dumps the dustpan out and finishes cleaning out the sink, finishing the dishes and putting them away. There's really not much to do until nightfall, and just wandering around the streets gets old really fast. He has to go out tonight or eviction is in their future. Not to mention a real lack of utilities.

Presently, a banging at the door brings his head up. Wiping his hands off on a towel, he crosses the living room, stepping over a discarded pair of heels and picking up the charm bracelet that Marian must have lost on her way out the door, setting it on the edge of the small television. Checking the peephole, he steps back and unfastens the lock.

"Stella." She pushes in with a frown, which isn't entirely new. Short dark brown hair brushes his face as she does a visual assessment--must be looking for Marian. He sighs, wondering how much she's in to Stella for. "Nice to see you, too."

"Cut the shit, Clark. Where's your girl?"

It's way to early for this. "I haven't seen her since I got up." Closing the door, Clark leans against it, closing his eyes. Headache. Even that brew Marian makes for him can't help this. Normal people can get drunk. He just gets to--stand here. "What's wrong?"

Wide green eyes grab his. "She said she'd pay me back today. You good for it?"

If she hadn't taken off with upward of a thousand dollars, sure thing. Clark rubs his forehead. "No. What and from when?"

"Early this week." Turning on chunky heels, she stops for a second, looking at him for a long moment. "You okay?"

"Headache. I'll talk to her when she gets home." About what, he has no idea. You can't talk someone into giving up the only thing that makes their life worth living. It's been a while since he's even tried. "I'll get it to you, okay?"

Frowning, she spins back around with a suspicious sweep of the room, like Marian's hiding under the furniture for God's sake. "When?"

"Give me a few days. How much?"

"Three hundred." Still frowning, she leans into the arm of the couch, brushing her hair from her eyes. "You're lucky I had a good night."

Stella's pretty and relatively smart, so he's not surprised. She also doesn't have a drug habit, which puts her at the high end of the curve as far as that goes. Tapping her foot, she plays with the edge of her skirt for a few minutes.

"Rich boys are all the same," she says, worrying a fingernail between her teeth. The green polish makes him vaguely nauseous in motion. "Nice enough, though." She smiles a little, shaking her head. "Easy money. Wish I had more like that one."

And great, he's going to have to hear about it. Sighing, Clark goes to the kitchen. He thinks there's some tea left. "Want something to drink?"

"Yeah. Beer?"

Not unless she wants to do their grocery shopping. "Tea."

"Whatever." She falls in a graceful sprawl on the couch, reaching behind her to get her purse and pull out her cigarettes. Clark wonders a little desperately where the ashtray is this time. "You should come out with me, Clark. You'd do better than at those clubs you like."

Yes, because walking a street is so low profile. "I like not having an arrest record, thanks." The microwave hums soothingly beside him.

"What do you do, blow the cops?"

I don't let myself be *seen*. He has to admit, his weirdness has some really useful applications. "Sugar?"

"Absolutely." She's not all that much older than he is, though she's legal, which makes it a little easier for her. She's not as apathetic as Marian, but time does that to you, he knows. And she hasn't been out long, just since her mother threw her out when she was sixteen. He knows she lived with a couple of boyfriends before she came to Metropolis, but Stella's as close-mouthed about her life before as he is. "Weird, though." She blows out a breath of smoke. She works for that level of casual carnality just wrapping her lips around a cigarette. He's seen her practice, even if now it looks effortless. "I almost thought he didn't like girls."

"Why?" Bringing the mugs over, he sets one beside her and watches in resignation as she ashes in the bowl of plastic fruit that Marian's so attached to. 

"Wanted to do it up the ass." She shrugs. "Double pay. I've done it before."

Clark thinks there's not much she hasn't done. "Huh."

"I've seen him around, though." She's frowning. "That club you like so much--"

Clark freezes, mug halfway to his mouth. "Oh?" And his voice is nowhere near as casual as he wants it to be. 

"Yeah." Turning her head, she sees the cup and sits up, reaching for it. From this angle, he can see the impression of bruising teeth in the back of her neck. "Bald guy. Lex."

Clark carefully sets down his mug, watching her take another drag. "How much for a night?"

"Flat thousand. And nothing weird." She sighs, stretching out a little. "Don't see that every day, you know?" Frowning, she takes another drag, leaning back into the couch, eyes glazing. Brown hair, green eyes, taking it up the ass. If he was the paranoid type--and he is--he'd think--

"Lex *Luthor*." She says it like it's a complete revelation, and she drops about ten points on the smartness scale right there. Her eyes glaze over. Clark knows that look. "Lex Luthor. In the Inquisitor."

Damn. "Yeah." Taking a drink of tea, Clark waits for it. Stupid, Lex is *stupid*. Doesn't he have *friends* for this sort of thing? "Anyway, I--"

"I wonder how much they'd pay," she murmurs, blowing out a lungful of smoke, eyelids drooping in thought. It doesn't take a degree in rocket science to see where she's headed.

"They wouldn't believe you." The mug is striating in his grip. Clark makes a physical effort to loosen his fingers. "They won't take the word of a--." He still can't quite say the word.

"The only difference between me and that Anna chick is she'll fuck anyone with a cock." There's a dangerously interested look in her eyes. "I could go ask--"

"No."

Clark doesn't actually believe the word came out of his mouth until he sees Stella, staring at him with wide eyes. The headache's growing worse, chopping like a thresher through his mind, and God, he'd give anything for her to leave. But not until he knows what she plans to do.

"What?"

"Don't." His mind is running a mile a minute and is it getting hot in here? Wiping his forehead, Clark puts down the mug before he shatters it. "You don't want him as an enemy."

"I don't have anything to lose."

Shit. Shit. "I'm sure Anna thought the same thing. And where's she been for the last few months after she pissed him off?" Acapulco, actually, but Stella doesn't pay as much attention to the papers as he does.

The cigarette dips disturbingly close to the blanket on the couch. "What's it to you?" Leaning forward, she fixes him with a searching look. "You know him, Clark?"

Is that what you call it? I don't know him. I don't want to know him. But I don't want--what? That he was fucking you while possibly thinking of me to--. Wow, that's convoluted. And God, his head hurts. Rubbing his forehead, Clark takes a breath.

"Just drop it. Consider it a personal favor."

"I don't do personal."

Clark looks up, wishing to God he could see her clearly. Everything's an orange-red haze and he wants her out so bad he just might throw her out, literally. "Just--don't. Drop it, forget about, don't tell anyone where you were last night--" Was Lex *high*? Drunk? Stupid? The Inquisitor *lives* to fuck with the Luthors. And has the pending lawsuits to prove it. He has to know that. Or doesn't he care?

"Clark--"

"I mean it, Stel." Taking a deep breath, Clark stands up, grabbing his cup and taking it to the kitchen. "I don't want--"

"You *do* know him." He can hear the sound of her shoes on the floor, coming closer, and it's getting hard to resist the urge to grab her and shake her. Her voice is in a new octave from glee, and that just makes the headache worse "What? He pick you up one night? Should have known--"

Before he knows he's going to do it, he's turned around, hands wrapped around her upper arms. "One word about him and you'll regret it." What the *hell*? Shaking his head free of a little of the haze, he sees her open-mouthed stare at him. He's seen people afraid of him before--chasing down Marian has never been all roses and ice cream--but never quite like this. 

It takes a second to realize he's holding her off the floor. 

"Shit." Biting his lip, Clark lets go, stepping back as she stumbles. He doesn't dare touch her again. "Sorry."

Eyes wide, Stella takes a backward step. On her bare arms, he can see the reddened marks of his hands in her skin. "Don't you ever--"

"Don't talk and I won't have to." Reaching behind him, Clark grabs onto the sink, wondering if he's going to fall, his knees are shaking so badly. It's not a threat unless he looks like he can back it, he knows that, but it never makes it easier. "Get out."

Slowly, she takes a step back, then another, like he's an animal that might attack at any second. Then a turn, dark hair flying, and she's fumbling the locks open, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the rapid pace of her heels on the stairs. 

Sinking down on the floor, Clark closes his eyes, wondering exactly what had just happened.

* * *

So maybe he could have been more subtle, in retrospect, but there's only one reason he'd be here, and it sure as hell isn't the alcohol.

"What. The. Hell?"

Lex isn't sure how he ended up against the wall in the backroom, but it probably has something to do with Clark. Who's a lot stronger than Lex had thought.

Angry green eyes keep him pinned in place, even when the big hands drop from his shoulders. A look around isn't enlightening; no one is even glancing their way. Lex has a feeling that Clark's temper tantrums might be a little familiar to the regulars.

One hand is shoved into the wall just above Lex's shoulder. Right. He's supposed to be paying attention to Clark, not the other residents.

"You have any idea how close you were to having your name in the headlines again?" Clark hisses in his ear. His eyes refuse to focus, blurring Clark's face; the broken overheads aren't helping. And God knows, the sounds...

"Are you *high*?" Clark sounds--appalled. Lex forces himself not to laugh at the look of utter shock. "Here? Alone? Do you want to wake up with your throat cut?"

"No one would dare."

"You have *got* to be kidding." Clark glances around briefly, then takes a step toward him, knee pushing between his. It's hot, or should be, but this is probably the least aroused Lex has been in his life. On the other hand, everything's funny, right up to the fact that the back of Clark's hair is standing on end like an angry cat. He wonders if he should tell him. "This isn't uptown where the bouncers all know Daddy, okay? God, if you're gonna slum, can you at least do it in your right mind?"

"Bad day." A day with Lionel is a convincing argument for suicide. Lex thinks two hits is rather modest, all things considered. "Why am I back here?"

And damned if Clark isn't grinding his teeth.

"Your trick last night? Pretty brunette?" Oh yes. Her. "Ask me how close she was to running to the Inquisitor to have a little chat about Lex Luthor's sexual proclivities?"

Lex grins. "That would have been interesting." Disastrous. But nearly worth the look on Daddy's face, too.

"No. *Not* interesting." The full mouth brushes against his ear, but Clark's showing zero interest in sex, which is kind of sad, since Lex is beginning to warm up to the idea. If he turned his head, he could kiss that full mouth. It's hard to keep his hands down at his sides. Looks like that mix is finally kicking in with more than nausea and an aversion to bright lights. "Lex, you can't just--come down here. Do that."

"Why?"

Clark glances around briefly, then leans back a little. "You're going to end up dead or worse. I've--seen worse. You don't know what--people are like. Here." 

Lex licks his lips. "I've been doing this since I was younger than you are. I can take care of myself."

"You didn't even bring your bodyguards--I looked. If I was someone else, who recognized you--" Hard hands close over his wrists, jerking them up level with his shoulders, and the knee between his legs suddenly *hurts*. "If you yelled, no one would come. If I dragged you outside, no one would care. If I killed you for five thousand dollars--and what the hell are you doing carrying that kind of money down here?--no one would give a shit. They'd find your body in a dumpster tomorrow and you'd get your last headline." Clark's grip is grinding bones together. It might be time to get a little worried. "Is that what you want?"

He's not sure. Everything's a little too bright, a little too close, and Clark--*Clark*, of all people, the pretty former-virgin-hustler--has him pinned to the wall to give him a lecture in safety. It's about on par for his life. "No." 

"Then why the hell do you do this?"

Lex opens his mouth to answer, but there really isn't a good one. "I'm bored."

Clark stares at him for a long moment, disbelief staining his skin like ink. Like he can't even imagine what Lex is talking about.

"I've been coming down here for years" Lex murmurs. Clark's close enough to smell--the cheap cotton of his shirt, soap from his shower, and sweat, bitter and tangy. Too close, really, for Lex to think clearly. Or that could be the drugs. "You think I don't *know*?"

"You risk that--"

"I don't *care*."

Clark's hands loosen--not enough to pull away, but to restart blood flow, a plus. Lex flexes his fingers expectantly, but that's apparently as far as Clark will go. "You--you're crazy. You think any of us like--that this is something we want--" The words trickle off. "How can you--"

"Clark." Lex closes his eyes, swallowing. "Everything you've ever heard about rich brats slumming? I invented the clichés, and I reinvented the ones that got old. I was fucking against this wall when I was younger than you are. Do you really think you're telling me something I don't already know?"

"Lex--"

"You do it for money. I just did it because I could. It's not all that different."

Finally, Clark lets go, but he doesn't move away. Lex fights the urge to rub his wrists, fights even harder to keep from touching Clark. God, he wants to, and there's nothing to stop him now, not really. Except himself. Except Clark, if he really wants to.

"I--" Clark stops, taking a breath, then taking a step back. Not at all a positive outcome. "I have to--"

"Work?" Lex pushes off the wall. "Clark. You don't have to--I can--"

"Stop--stop saying that. You can't fix--you can't just--"

"I can help you."

"I don't *want* your help!"

"Why? Is all this some kind of penance?" Waving an arm, Lex takes another step toward him, feeling dangerously off-balance. Not good to have confrontations when he's about five minutes from not giving a shit about anything at all. "I want to help you. I--I don't want--"

"I don't *need* anyone--"

"You need money."

Clark closes his eyes, but at least he stops trying to leave. Lex glances around. No one's looking at them, but that doesn't mean they aren't listening, especially since he and Clark have gotten to the dramatic portion of the conversation.

"You want to buy me this time, Lex?"

Christ. Lex licks suddenly dry lips. The green eyes catch his, making it impossible to look away. "Clark--"

"Last time, what? I didn't know what I was doing? Too young? That was a hell of a lot of money for three hours of sitting around and letting your friends grope me." Clark takes a step forward, and Lex finds himself in the novel position of retreat. The wall isn't the comfort it should be against his back. "You followed me here last night. You're here tonight. Why?"

"I--don't know. I just--." It's the most inane thing he's ever said in his life, and that's saying something. No one asks him to explain himself. It figures Clark would.

"You don't even know me. What do you want?"

"Just to help you."

"Three hundred." Clark bares his teeth in something that doesn't come close to a smile, taking another step forward. In a second, he'll be against the wall, and Lex could possibly come just from looking at him. "You want me on my knees? I can do that now."

Christ, no, yes, maybe, now. Clark is too close, and it's too hard to think like this. "For nothing. For you. No strings."

Clark shrugs, stepping back. "It doesn't work that way."

Why the hell *not*? "I don't--"

"You've paid for it before. And I'm very good."

Like he needs to hear that now, when his entire body's alight. Even his clothing feels too rough, and he's starting to sweat, just looking at the kid in front of him. A kid, his mind tells him. A very pretty, very hot *kid*. "Don't--"

"Yes or no, Lex. Pick one."

He'd be insane to say no. "Five hundred." He's got to be jaded as shit to say that. But Clark only nods, and that space between them closes, and this time, he can touch. Clark lets him.

Soft, soft brush of lips against his mouth, before Clark draws back, skimming to breathe against his ear. "Five hundred. What do you want?"

Clark's skin is hot, like he's been dancing for hours. Hard muscle beneath the silkiest skin he's ever touched. And that mouth--he could just think about that and come, with the knee pressed to his cock, just ride that thigh and touch him and come seeing stars, possibly pass out considering everything he's taken tonight. "I--"

"Want me to suck you off?" Clark's tongue is fast and slick and does things. Across his collar and in the hollow of his throat, the scrape of teeth against solid bone, making Lex arch, breathe out some word that could be yes, or might not be, but Clark only grins at him, this sharp, glittery thing that almost scares him. Then those big hands are running down the front of his pants, one cupping him through the material, and he stops caring.

"Clark--"

"Usually I'd ask for payment up front, but I know you're good for it." Clark leans close enough to lick away Lex's breath, catching his lower lip between his teeth, pulling back with a glance down. One handed, Clark undoes the button, sliding down the zipper. "Nothing on under? Saves time."

Jesus. "I--"

"I like it."

Somewhere else, Lex is saying no, explaining that he doesn't do this, not really, not until last night. He's telling Clark that he doesn't want it this way, not him this way, but that's a lie and Clark would know it if he bothered to say it. He's saying that this isn't why he's here, why he's interested, but that's not here, and it doesn't have Clark on his knees, so fast Lex feels dizzy, one hand on his hip, the other pulling him through the opening in his pants. A look up, all jade-green eyes as hard as nails, and Clark swallows him down so effortlessly that Lex can't help the gasp, or the way he tenses. 

He's good, that much is absolutely fucking true.

Good, amazing, *inspired*, and so fucking *practiced*. This isn't even close to the kid he first met, like two entirely different people. One who can coax him to shiver and gasp and probably scream if that's what he wants. Lex reaches down, touching soft dark hair, trying not to just grab on and fuck the kid's mouth. There's got to be a line drawn somewhere, and the thought's funny when he's just bought use of a sixteen year old's throat in the backroom of the third sleaziest club in the city.

It's fast, too. Lex closes his eyes, biting his lip when he comes, feeling it in every nerve down to his feet. His legs want to fold up, but Clark's holding him up, standing up with the same too-fast grace, looking down at him, licking his lips absently.

"Money."

Lex reaches behind him, pulling out his wallet. His hands don't want to work; fine motor control is shot to hell and back. He's lucky he's still standing. "Take it."

Through half-closed eyes, he watches Clark count out the bills, then the big hand slides back around, tucking his wallet in his pocket before reaching down and zipping up his pants. Another too bright smile, like walking on glass. Lex knows he's cut before he can even feel it. "See you around."

* * *

Marian's not home when he gets in; everything's still as neat as he left it, so she hasn't been here since he left. He dropped off a check at the landlord's apartment downstairs, balancing a pizza and more orange juice while running up the stairs. No one sane takes the elevator here; it's always stopping at random intervals in the wrong places, like between floors.

He doesn't bother glancing at the phone. Marian never calls.

Sitting down, Clark closes his eyes, folding his arms up on the table. If his parents could see him now--

\--and that doesn't go anywhere productive at all. Pushing the thought aside, Clark buries his head, taking deep breaths. Somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear Chloe telling him that he's got to get over his savior complex some day, but in retrospect, she probably never meant in regards to her. Or really, at all, and again, that's not good thoughts, not morning thoughts, not pizza-and-orange-juice thoughts. He's tired and it's been a long night. 

Getting up, he automatically showers and changes into his pajamas, the ones he brought from home a million years ago. Moving all the food to the coffee table, he grabs the remote and turns on the TV, reaching for comfort food in pepperoni and mushrooms. Marian disappears sometimes, and when she does, she doesn't like to be found. She took enough for a three day bender if she was really inspired, and it's been a bad few weeks.

He should--say something. No idea *what*, or how, but he should. And she'll tell him to mind his own fucking business and ruffle his hair, because she doesn't care anymore about anything, and it's not like he doesn't understand that. Picking up another piece of pizza, Clark wishes vaguely for cable and the Cartoon Network, but Saturday morning cartoons aren't too bad either, even if the antenna is acting a little whacky.

He saw Lex later, though he hadn't meant to, not really. Another place, with the kind of people Marian tells him to stay away from, the kind who like them young and breakable and soft. He's none of those things, but she thinks he is, and he lets her keep thinking that. Lex had been okay for as long as Clark had watched, as long as it took for a cab to arrive and pick him up, a mess of ruined leather and bruised skin and blissed out eyes, like he wasn't seeing the world at all. Makes Clark almost understand why people get high, if Lex can look like that, look so happy.

Lex isn't soft, but he plays at it like Clark does sometimes, and it's different from the Lex that Clark almost knows, the one who watches him with those sharp blue eyes, like he's always looking for something. He should have fucked Lex that first night, and maybe then, Lex wouldn't be so--interested. Watching. Should have--not gone near him tonight, or upset Stella, or watched, either, but Lex isn't like anyone else Clark's met. The other ones who come down here never really know what they're playing, but Lex just might. Rumor says a lot.

And he's listening now.

Lionel Luthor shut down two places because of Lex back in the day. Lex likes it any way he can get it, can take it. He likes it slow and fast and sharp and likes to remember with his body and his skin and likes to remember with other people's, too. He pays well because he can, because he expects silence, and he gets it. Down here, everyone knows of him, and they never talk. Leave it up to those of his class to fuck around with him. Most of them here won't, because he's been here a year and those that do don't seem to stay around long at all.

There's a message in that, Clark thinks, but he's not sure what it is. Maybe scaring Stella hadn't been necessary. If she'd heard the things that he had--but then, Stella doesn't listen, and maybe she would have found out the hard way.

Still, though. Another piece of pizza, another day to sleep, and he's got to start thinking of something to do, something that--isn't this. It's still over a year before his eighteenth birthday, before he can afford to be seen by anyone, but he's beginning to wonder what he'll be by then. Stella had said it was temporary, and he thinks Marian didn't exactly consider this her life's work either, but on the other hand, he's not vulnerable to drug abuse either. At least, not so far when he's tried.

There's a DARE speech in that somewhere, which is kind of funny. At least his head doesn't hurt anymore.

"What's it like?" he'd asked her one day, a hundred years ago, when he was trying to fall asleep and couldn't, nauseous and angry by turns, feeling younger than sixteen should ever feel.

She'd shrugged, sitting on his bed to pet his hair. "It just makes things not matter as much." 

That'd be nice, to have things not matter. Marian could forget food and rent on the right kind of day, forget that they didn't have electricity and it wasn't even the worst of winter yet. Marian could forget she hated what she did, forget how long she'd been doing it, have sex like it meant something when it didn't mean anything at all. 

He thinks he might like that, too.

Banging on the door interrupts his thoughts. It could be Marian, because she's always losing keys, and it's such a good thing they don't have anything worth stealing. Could be one of her dealers that she screwed over by forgetting to pay; she does that sometimes. Could be the landlord, though Clark can't imagine what for. None of it really inspires him to move much.

But it's cold outside, as cold as it is in here, but here, they have blankets, and if he knows Marian, she left without her coat or gloves today.

"Just a second." Drinking half the juice in a gulp, Clark gets up, brushing a stray mushroom from his pajama bottoms to put back on the box. A check at the keyhole shows it isn't Marian, and this is so not what he got up for.

He could be a brat and ignore her, but--

"Clark! Open this goddamn door!"

She can be really loud.

Clark unhooks the lock and steps aside, forgetting to wince when she brings a chunky pump down on his foot as she walks by him. It's not like she notices. "Good morning."

Whirling on him, she gives him a frown. "Cut the shit. He's one of your regulars? That's why you acted like a jerk last night?"

It's way too early for this kind of drama. Shutting the door, Clark goes back to his pizza, consoling himself with the thought that Stella looks like she had a hell of a night.

"Not exactly." She must have seen something. Or someone told her something. Or hell, maybe she's just really suspicious or something. "I just--"

"What does he pay you to keep your mouth shut?"

She'd probably never believe that the first time, it was five grand for being pretty and quiet. "He doesn't."

"Do you think he gives a shit about you?" She's mad, yeah. Her entire face is flushed. Must have been a really bad night. The cold doesn't encourage customers to mill around. "Why--"

"He's a--friend." That's an epic lie, and probably one of the biggest he's ever told, right up there with the first time he told Marian her ex-pimp tripped over his own feet in that alley. She hadn't believed him then, and Stella's looking like she doesn't believe him now. It's kind of funny. Folding a piece of pizza in half, Clark stuffs half of it in his mouth. He's *hungry*.

"Your friend."

He needs to sleep before he has to deal with people. "Yeah. We--met a while back. Why do you care?"

Frowning, she stares at his pizza box, and Clark turns it toward her. If she eats, she might calm down and go away, and that means some more Saturday morning cartoons before he crashes. 

"I had a bad night."

And once, certain friends had told him he was too oblivious. Hah. "Sorry about that."

She shrugs. "Whatever." Sitting on the floor, she takes a slice, looking thoughtfully at the mushrooms. "Marian home yet?" 

"No." Clark pushes the thought aside. She knows the streets better than he does, high or not. "She probably won't be back--" For a few days. Even if he started now, he wouldn't know where to start looking. 

"Until the money runs out, you mean," Stella finishes gloomily, taking another bite. "What happened to Randall?" 

"Moved to LA." That's got to be some kind of really weird euphemism. People don't just get up one day and move to LA. Unless they're running from something., maybe. But he hadn't heard anything, and by now, he would have. "You gonna be up long?"

"Long enough to finish this." She finishes the piece and stands up, licking her fingers clean like a cat. "I gotta run. You want me to ask around about Marian?"

She's either forgiven him for threatening her, or she's planning some really scary revenge. Neither would really surprise him. "No." She'd hate that. "Thanks, though."

"You owe me for Luthor." Right, he gets that. "I'll be in touch." Slinging her hair back, she unlocks the door, relocking it before she closes it again, and he finishes up the last slice, closing the empty box.

He needs to rest. But maybe, he can wait a little longer. Just to see if she comes back home.

He'll be waiting a long time.

* * *

It's the first time it happens.

It's a club first, then a building, and now it's an alley. That's as much as Clark remembers of it, except for the man's face, friendly and open. A nice guy, maybe just curious, playing around the edges of the slums. He'd touched Clark like television romance movies, and it was--nice. Nice to be kissed carefully and touched lightly and asked what he liked, even if he couldn't say that he liked anything at all. Nice to be asked back to a small, quiet apartment and nice to be led to a big, comfortable bed, and nice to be touched like that--

\--and not nice, not what he was ready for, that was the problem. Because he's used to guys who are rough and tries to avoid the ones that want to see bruises after. He's used to avoiding the too-sober ones, because they'll notice things, and used to being treated like shit, because that's how life is. He doesn't expect--couldn't expect--he hadn't seen that coming, and it was stupid. It was so *stupid*, because the guy was so nice and then he wasn't, and Clark got scared when the hand went around his throat and started to squeeze, because no one had ever done that before.

Closing his eyes, Clark tries to clear his head, but he smells like burning bed and burning man, and he hadn't meant to do that, he didn't know, how the hell was he supposed to *know* he could do *that*....

"Oh God," he whispers, and wonders why he's even bothering. Three streets away there's a fire burning and fire trucks and people evacuating the building, and he's here, and-- "I didn't, I didn't--" A candle or an electric short or a goddamned case of *spontaneous combustion*, except his head had hurt and hurt and was this was it was? This--this--

"Clark." The hand on his shoulder almost makes him look up, but he remembers at the last moment, dropping his head again, hand firmly placed. He could rip out his eyes, but is that where it comes from? Will it always be there, even when his eyes aren't? "Clark. Look at me. We need to get out of here."

"I can't--"

"Were you hurt?" Cool, smooth hands track his bare skin, and Clark shivers, jerking away. Maybe touching him triggers it, and he'll burn through his own hands. The touching doesn't stop though. A delicate scent of cologne drifts toward him, so much better than ash and burned things, that Clark wants to lean into it, absorb it into his skin. It's an effort to keep still, just let it go on and on. "Clark. Talk to me."

"I'm fine."

A worried huff of breath, just over his head. "You were in the building? When it started burning?"

I *started* that fire burning, Clark thinks, but he bites his lip against saying anything. "I'm fine, Lex. I don't--"

"Why are you covering your eyes?" And he can feel Lex kneeling in front of him. They're way too familiar in some weird way, and somehow, Clark had thought the blowjob would be enough. Lex finally getting something he hadn't had before, and he'd go away, and it's like it made it *worse*. Or better. Lex never approaches him for a trick, but he watches even more, and Clark wishes he were more sorry about it than he is. "Do you have anyone I can call?"

Marian's been MIA for two weeks. A grand will buy a lot of forgetting, Clark thinks. He'd try it, if he could, if it would work. "No." Stella, maybe, but he remembers how he got a headache around her. Maybe it's specific people? "I'm okay, I just--" There are people in there, and he left them to die. He can't even open his eyes to see if anyone got out okay. "I--"

"I'll take you back." The cool hands close over his wrists, but he doesn't pull. "Come on. My car's around the block."

Which begs the question. "What are you doing here?" Because this would be a new level of Lex stalking. Following him to his trick's residence.

"Jeremy isn't known for being all that--conventional." God knows what that means. And--wait. Who?

"He said his name was Dan."

"Jeremy Maddox." Clark stiffness at the name. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. He--doesn't come down here very often, except for specific things."

"He didn't tell me that." Well, stupid, sometimes they don't. Marian used to tell him to be careful. Some of them wanted things that no one sane would do, ever. He'd just-- "He offered a lot."

"Considering what he usually wants, it should have been double that. He didn't tell you?" Lex sounds unhappy about that. "Fucker. Come on--fine, keep your hands over your eyes, just come with me. You can't get home like this."

A point, that. Clark keeps one hand firmly covering them, reaching back to brace against the wall. His jeans are ripped from when Dan--Jeremy--jerked too hard. The denim threatens to slide down, but Lex's other hand catches the waistband. How embarrassing. "I'm okay--"

"That's why I found you in an alley talking to yourself." He was? "Don't worry about it. You got out okay." 

But maybe some didn't. Maybe Jeremy didn't. "Yeah." 

It feels like a long way, but Clark supposes it can't be more than a block. Clark hears Lex fumbling with the keys, then the sound of a car alarm disabling and the door opening. Lex's hand on his back guides him in--incidentally holding up his pants--then shuts the door.

It feels nice in here. His headache's gone completely, and his hands aren't warm. Clark risks opening on eye, now that Lex isn't right beside him and in danger of combustion. Nothing--he can see the faint outline of his fingers, probably from the bright city lights. Opening the other, Clark takes a deep breath, pulling his hands aside and focuses on the world outside the windshield.

It's perfectly normal, and nothing combusts. Rubbing his forehead, Clark's surprised to come away with sweat, chilled and drying on his skin.

Lex slides in beside him, giving him a brief glance before starting the car. They're two blocks down before he says anything.

"When I looked, it was a pretty small fire." Clark stiffens at the casual interest in Lex's voice. "Just one apartment. They were containing it when I arrived."

Oh thank God. Clark licks his lips. No explanation is better than a really bad one. It's not like--not like--

"I think Jeremy be all right." Lex's voice is too smooth for insinuation. "He was walking out, anyway." A pause. "Tell me where to turn."

Like you don't *know*. At least, Clark wouldn't bet against him. "Stone and Second," Clark murmurs, carefully blinking. It's--gone. Like that. No headache, no *nothing*. "I--"

"You don't have to explain." The cool voice makes Clark nervous, and risking a quick glance, he doesn't like the look on Lex's face.

"It wasn't--"

"I'll bet it wasn't a lot of things you were expecting."

Clark grits his teeth. "I can take care of myself. I don't need--" Well, maybe he did. At least, more information. Dan had seemed nice, and Clark's instincts were usually so much better than this. 

Interrupting the thought, Lex brings the car to a stop in front of the building. Clark hesitates. It feels weird to just take a ride and not ask him in or something--somewhere in his head are still buried good manners, and it's not like he doesn't know better. "Um. You--um. Want to come up?" For what? A thank-you blowjob? Coffee? 

Lex just smiles. "Thanks for the offer, but I have some things to do." It passes through Clark's mind to ask about Dan--Jeremy--but he bites the words back. He really doesn't want to know. "Get some rest." Clark nods, stepping back and closing the door, taking a second to appreciate the sight of a BMW in the middle of broken asphalt. God, that's a hot car.

And Dan paid half up front, so it's not like he didn't make some money tonight. Taking a breath, Clark turns to the building door, taking the stairs faster than is wise, even here, where no one ever sees anything. Opening the door, Clark takes a deep breath, looking slowly around.

She's still not home.

* * *

It's not often that he can get that particular look on his dad's face.

"You what?" Lionel actually stops typing, which is right up there with a bona fide miracle. Turning lazily in the chair, Lex puts a leg over the arm, smiling winningly.

"I was looking at some things." With a flicker of his wrist, he tosses the envelope to skid across the desk, hitting the laptop to come to a stop. "Just a thought."

"Maddox Enterprises?" Dad's eyebrows go up, and Lex thinks he can see the calculation going on just behind. Dad's like playing chess, and it may have taken a while, but Lex gets it now. This is Dad, trying to work out what Lex's strategy is. "It's not a particularly--interesting company."

"They have great massage therapists." Lex cocks his head, watching his dad. "The kind you pay by the hour in certain downtown hotels. Not that I'd name names." 

Lionel frowns at the folder, snapping it closed. "That's interesting blackmail, son, but--"

"Electronics. They dominate the market on chip production, for a second." Settling himself more comfortably, Lex watches his dad's face become thoughtful. "Ever since old man Maddox started leaving decisions up to his kid, it's been going downhill. And the kid's--definitely dealing with the stress badly. We could help with that." Lex grins at the look on his dad's face--acquisition always makes him happy. "You'd be surprised how careless he can be."

Lionel leans back. "Why do you care?"

It's not necessarily dangerous territory. But careful. Because if Dad doesn't like his answer, he'll take some time to find out. "Maybe I'm getting interested in business, Dad." It could happen. Over his cooling corpse, but it could. 

"And I'm supposed to believe you had a change of heart?"

Of course not. "Jeremy pissed me off." In ways that Jeremy is going to pay for, for years. For the rest of his life, if Lex has anything to say about it. And right now, he really does. "I don't want just the company ruined. I want him ruined. And this is a great way to do it."

Lionel's fingers steeple on the desk. Right, it's lecture time. Disappointment, potential, mystery, sanctity of the Luthor name.... "LuthorCorp does not exist to fulfill your ridiculous vendettas, Lex."

Oh, that one. "I'm not asking you to do something you wouldn't normally do, if you were aware of the information I have."

"And that would be?"

"He's playing downtown in the warehouse district. I'm sure his wife would be thrilled to know he's paying hookers to let him beat the shit out of them. And so would his board of directors."

Lionel's interest is piqued, at least. "And they would care because--"

"He's not doing girls, Dad."

Lionel straightens. "And you know this--"

"Oh please. Like you don't know how I spend my nights." It's easy to piss Dad off, and while it's kind of fun, it's also counterproductive to the mission at hand. "Metropolis doesn't give a shit what I do, except it makes good tabloid fodder. Jeremy, however--" Lex wrinkles his nose. "You know, the Inquisitor would find it *fascinating*. And imagine how much more interesting it would be if we were ready for the fall of stock prices resulting from certain--let's say, compromising--pictures of Mr. Maddox and his evening entertainment."

Yes, Dad's very, very interested. "You have some?"

"I can get them."

Lionel's still watching him. "How did young Maddox upset you so, son?" The sharp eyes fix on him. Lex lets his smile fade.

"It's personal, Dad." Cocking his head, Lex watches Lionel consider. It's an interesting balance--Lex showing some interest in business, versus interesting reasons for wanting to do it. Lionel will go looking, but he won't find anything he can use, not really. "So?"

Lionel's gaze levels. "If you handle the deal. As a LuthorCorp employee."

Fuck. And fuck again. "Gee, Dad, that's kind of a big commitment for some revenge."

"If the revenge is so important, then you shouldn't count the cost." And just like that, Lex knows he's screwed. Dad wants that company. He can see it. But he'll leave it alone, let it flounder on until someone else takes it, until Jeremy can get his private fortune away and be just. Damned. Fine. Which isn't good enough. It isn't even close.

"Why?"

Lionel snorts. "It's your destiny, son." And that's about the crux of the answer he gets every time. Like it means a damn thing. And God, he waited out his father through the nonsense with that rustic plant, and he held out through a hell of a lot of some of the most amusing threats ever, but--this is different. This is important.

Hell, it's not like he has much else to do. "What are you offering? And if you say that plant in bumfuck--"

"The plant is failing. Option to resign without prejudice in six months if you succeed. And I won't continue threatening your trust fund."

And it must have cost him, but-- "I'll be free?"

If his father could look more annoyed, he would probably have a heart attack right in front of him. "You want freedom, Lex? Six months. But I expect *performance*. I expect to see a positive return. And that you handle the Maddox takeover."

There's a catch, but it'll probably be in the employment contract somewhere. Lex considers his options. "You want me there full-time?"

"I think a six hour daily commute would be wearying, even for you."

He has a point. Shit. Lex thinks carefully. Six months out of Metropolis. On weekdays, anyway. Six months in the boondocks, away from the city, away from--well. He has people. They'll watch, and they'll keep him updated. 

And watching Jeremy's face when he loses everything-- "Deal. When do I start?"

Lionel smiles, slow and scary, like Lex just fell into the trap head first. It's not that bad an analogy. "Let's discuss that, shall we?"

* * *

"What do you mean, she disappeared?" Clark never really understood when his dad said he could *feel* his blood pressure rising, not until now. It's a thick pulse that seems to shake his sight, making everything golden-red and frightening and--

\--*shit*.

Closing his eyes, Clark takes a deep breath, not letting go of the thin shoulders quite yet. God knows where Nikita will take off to, and hell if he's chasing her through half the city tonight. Breathe. Calm. Don't--don't do that. Don't feel that. Don't--

Slowly, he can feel the pressure lessen, sliding back behind his head like thick, hot honey. When he opens his eyes, the world is normal again.

Nikita whimpers, but he doesn't buy the act. She only acts frail. He's seen her with an unsatisfactory trick. "Clark, I don't--"

"Don't even try that shit with me." He shakes her--carefully, God knows what he could do if he isn't careful. Short, carefully styled blonde hair barely moves, but she goes limp, like he'll fall for that. "I know you were out with her. Where. Is. She?"

Marian has lousy taste in tricks and in friends. Nikita frowns, giving him a look from beneath sharp eyebrows, mouth tight. "That was days ago. We were partying half the night. She wandered off with some uptown creep and left me hanging with the bill, 'kay? Trust me, your girlfriend has a lot to answer for when I see her ass."

It could almost be the truth, but Clark doesn't quite trust it. "Who was she with? Regular?"

"Just one of the dealers." Fuck. "She had some debt to work off."

She blew through a thousand in two weeks? It's unreal. Clark almost lets go, catching himself at the last second. "With him?"

"Him and his friends. Shit if I know or care." One small foot kicks out, and Clark just manages to dodge it, or broken toes would be another thing he can't possibly explain. Pushing her back against the wall, Clark tries to think. She knows something.

"Tell me who."

"I don't know every dealer in the city, kid, so lay the fuck off." She glares up at him, highlighting the circles under bloodshot eyes. He can feel the tremors in her hands as they close over his wrists, trying to pull him off. Coming down, he supposes, trying to decide if she's telling the truth. "Check with Slade down on fifth. He was there, he might know Now will you let me the fuck *go*?"

Clark slowly lets go, wondering if he held too hard when she rotates her shoulders carefully, giving him another glare before moving away fast as a rabbit being hunted. He almost expects some sharp comment as she leaves, but Nikita just vanishes down the side of the building, leaving him to stare blankly at the wall and wonder what the hell he should do.

Slade was arrested two days ago and isn't out yet. Shit. And *shit*.

Working off her debt, Nikita said. That doesn't sound good, though he guesses Marian's done it before. But two weeks is a long time and she'd at least have contacted him by now, wouldn't she? Or someone? He runs through the mental list of her friends, but it's short and no one on it could really be called a friend. Just him, and he has no clue what to do.

And he has work, and God, he needs--

It pops into his head on its own, and Clark rejects it even as the idea forms. He won't. He doesn't. It won't--but it's Marian. Clark thinks of the frantically clean apartment, and the empty bedroom. He--he can't just stare at every building until he finds her. He has to--

Turning on a heel, Clark tracks back, pulling his coat closer. He doesn't feel cold, but sometimes, people notice stuff like that, and he's getting better at remembering. It's a short trip, because he'd been on his way anyway before he saw Nikita stumbling a few streets over. 

It's brighter tonight--someone fixed the lights. The usual crowd of milling bodies and the smells of sweat and too much alcohol, but it's familiar, in that way that Clark finds comforting. The bouncer waves him in with a smile--he's liked Clark since he helped break up that fight a few months back, which is cool, since the superfast sneaking was dangerous and got very old, very fast.

Scanning the crowd, Clark's surprised how many familiar faces are here tonight. It's kind of a surprise they aren't busted more often than they are--just the random raids that the police do on all the clubs in the Metropolis equivalent of the Red Light district. It's not like there's any secret on what's going on here. Not that a few of the officers aren't regulars off-duty--and on, for that matter--but still.

Lex is an unmistakable presence in the middle--but then, it's really hard to miss Lex, no matter the lighting. He's moving like he has no idea there's anyone around him at all, eyes closed. Even from here, Clark can see the fresh track marks on one bare arm, though he's noticed Lex doesn't stay hurt long at all. So really recent, then. Shit. A little earlier, he could have caught him while he was still somewhat coherent.

And is he--is he really going to do this?

It's easy enough to shoulder through, even easier to pry away whoever thinks Lex will be an easy mark tonight, though she looks pissed. Lex doesn't seem to notice, but his eyes slit open when Clark pulls at his arm, heels digging in unexpectedly.

"I need to talk to you."

Even high, Lex is disturbingly fast. One arm slides around Clark's waist, jerking him into full body contact with cheap vinyl and something silky that feels way too good under his fingers. Not better than Lex's skin, maybe, but close.

"Lex. Come on." Shit, hand on his ass. Lex's eyes slit open, a little grin curling up the corner of his mouth. Not nearly as high as he's acting, maybe, but his pupils are blown, iris a thin silver ring like the moon. It's--well. Very Lex, actually. "Lex. I want to talk, not pick you up."

"Pity, that." Lex's grin widens, and he doesn't let go. It's--weird. Not to do this for money. He's not sure what it says about him that he hasn't ever danced with someone just for the feel of it. The hand on his ass slides up beneath his shirt, settling at the small of his back, drawing patterns with short, blunt nails. Almost idly, like Lex doesn't know what he's doing. "Then you sent my companion away--why?"

"She would have robbed you blind. God, you're bad at this. Stick to the socialites."

"No real difference." Lex shrugs elaborately, somehow making the movement look like part of the music. "Socialites cut condoms, sell to newspapers, and generally don't fuck worth a shit." Lex's smile widens suddenly, and he looks years younger. "At least here, if they sleep with my father, I don't know about it."

Oh man, Clark's not touching *that* one with a ten foot pole. 

"And anyway," Lex says dreamily, and now the fingernails are pushing *in*, and Clark almost thinks--maybe--that he likes it.. "I pay well."

"Yeah, you have a reputation for that. Lex--"

The blue eyes flicker open again, and suddenly, there's a knee between Clark's thighs that wasn't there before. Oh. Lex is hot and slick, sweating from the crush of bodies and the lights overhead. Touching like he means it, and Clark's not used to that.

"Dance with me," Lex murmurs, warm breath against his throat, and Clark's surprised by the careful press of soft lips to the hollow of his throat, the tongue that darts out to lick the sweat away. It's--Lex. Clark draws in a breath, letting his hands settle on Lex's shoulders. "Just pretend you like it. For a little while."

That's--not going to be a problem. "Lex--"

"Just for a little while."

God. Helplessly, Clark lets himself relax. It's not easy, not this close, and he's always thinking when he does stuff like this, when he touches or dances or fucks, but this doesn't need thought.

And Lex feels *good*. "Are you--" Even for Lex, this is weird. Kind of. "Is everything okay?"

"Sold my soul, the usual." Lex mouths the side of Clark's throat, sending little sparks over his skin, prickling alive like goosebumps. "It's been a very, very shitty day."

"Why?" His clients sometimes like to talk, and rote's easy enough, but this is the one time he really wants to know. "What happened?"

Lex leans back, looking up at him from black eyes, mouth reddened and a little swollen. Against Clark's thigh, Lex is hard as hell, but he's not doing anything with it. "Just. Made a deal." A gentle hand pets his hair. "Don't worry about Jeremy. He's not going to bother anyone for a while."

Oh. Oh--fuck. "What did you do?"

Lex grins, somehow pushing up on tiptoe, until their mouths are only inches apart. It would be so easy to kiss him right now. "Nothing interesting. Tell me you like me."

"If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be here." Lex has silky skin, especially the back of his neck. Slick from sweat, and Lex shivers when he touches, just with the tips of his fingers. "You are so fucking high."

"Not as much as I want to be." Lex's lips brush his with the words, then pull back. Clark follows--it's not practice, not even intent, just instinct. And Lex is so close that Clark can feel him everywhere. The second kiss is slower, even more gentle, and Clark closes his eyes, wondering if this is how people do it when they like it. If it feels like this.

Dancing is always foreplay, maybe, but this is--completely different. And he'd do almost anything not to have to pull away right now. "I need your help, Lex."

Lex smiles. "How'd I know you'd want something." And suddenly, Lex is a cool space of inches away, the hand drawing intriguing circles on Clark's back dropping to grab a belt loop and pull. "Let's go outside. It's too loud in here."

That's not why, Clark almost says, but he bites his lip, because why the hell would Lex believe him? Outside is cooler, and Lex seems to come awake a little more, heat-flush fading from his skin. More himself, somehow, like the semi-slut is a skin he can take off and put on whenever he wants. Letting go, Lex leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "What?"

Clark stares at the ground. "I wouldn't ask if it was--it's not for me."

"It wouldn't be for you." And Lex sounds so damned *amused*. "Just spit it out. I had plans tonight, before you interrupted."

Biting his lip, Clark tilts his head. "You don't have to." God, how else will he do this? "I just--I don't--" There isn't anyone else he can think to ask. Not with this. No one he can-- "Look, I'll--"

"No." And like that, Lex's mouth curls up again. "I'm giving you a hard time because I had a bad day. I'm sorry. I told you I'd help you, and I will. What do you need?"

Explaining this one is going to be interesting as hell. "I--Marian's still missing."

"Your roommate?" Lex acts like it's all new information, but Clark's pretty sure by now, Lex not only knows about Marian, but about every roommate he's had since he came to the city. Lex is thorough like that.

"She's been gone for two weeks. She's never--I mean. She does her thing, but she always comes back, and she's never been this long before." He's squirming under the cool eyes, wishing to God he'd gone with his first instinct and found another way.

"And you want me to--"

"She's--someone told me she left with some dealers the other night. To work off debt." God, that sounds--so not good. "There's a guy who was there, and he probably knows who she left with. But he's in jail--"

"Slade."

It shouldn't surprise him that Lex knows that. "Yeah."

"And you want me to--what? Get you in to talk to him?"

Lex makes it sound so matter-of-fact, like this is a totally ordinary request. Nodding mutely, Clark watches Lex push off the wall, pacing briefly, with a completely steady step. No, not very high at all anymore. 

"I can do that." 

Clark licks his lips. "I can--" The look on Lex's face stops him cold. Right. Not so much with the offer of the sex. "I--I'll do you a favor. If you ever need one."

"Hmm." Like Clark could possibly have anything but his body to offer anyone. There's a second where he can't read Lex at all, but then it's like all the lights come on at once, a deadly sober Lex Luthor in the alley, nodding to himself. "One favor. One request, maybe?"

Oh, that's an interesting way of putting it. But if Lex just wanted sex of some kind, he'd say it. It's not like Clark hasn't done it. A lot. "Yeah. One request, one favor, whatever you want to call it."

Lex extends a hand with another little smile. Awkwardly, Clark reaches to take it, surprised again by the strong grip. "Agreed. So. Ready?"

Clark blinks. It can't-- "Now?"

Lex's smile is bright enough to light even the alley. "Why not? The night's still young, and if we hurry, I have time to have some fun tonight. Let's go."

* * *

Lex gets them in by the underrated art of bribery.

It's not like Clark's shocked or anything. "You *paid* him?" Okay, so he is. It's one thing to see it down on the strip, in the clubs, down on second; it's another thing entirely to be walking through the quiet back hallways of Metropolis's Finest after Lex subtly hands over some undisclosed amount of money.

Lex gives him an amused look from the corner of his eye. He's high still, getting some kind of drug-induced second wind during the drive, and a few times, Clark could swear he's *humming*, slim body almost vibrating with unreleased energy. 

"Phelan's easy," Lex murmurs. "He has certain--let us say--extremely expensive habits."

Clark doesn't like the way Phelan looks at them, smirking when his eyes run down Clark's body like an unwelcome hand, rough and careless. He'd murmured something to Lex that Clark hadn't heard, but it had been enough to bring Lex out of his haze long enough for a single sharp look. Phelan had backed off, but nothing could make him stop smirking.

"So, you have a plan?" Lex asks, and that makes Clark pause. Asking probably won't do it, and he's so not asking Lex to pay off someone else--God, does he want to know how much that Phelan cost? Clark can yell, but that seems kind of silly, because Slade's on one side of the bars and Clark's over here, so really, what the hell can he do?

"He's in the far cell," Lex murmurs, fingers brushing Clark's elbow. It's--nice. Casual, like touch never really is, and Clark tries to keep their steps in synch so he won't lose it. Which is just pathetic any way he looks at it. Cool fingers slide inside his, and Clark shivers a little as they pull away, leaving something warm and solid behind. "I'll wait for you out here."

Uncurling his fingers, Clark stares blankly at the cell key. "I don't--"

"I don't care what you have in mind." Lex's voice is all smooth honey. "When you get done, we'll go get her."

Clark closes his hand over the key again. He won't need it. "I thought you were going to party the night away."

Lex shrugs elegantly, somehow making a half-slouch into the wall into some kind of statement of sexual rebellion. It has to be the hips. "Far be it from me to interfere with your heroic impulses. Go."

Clark winces, then goes out. The cells are mostly empty--slow night?--and the few other prisoners Clark sees are pretty much out of it. Clark scans each face quickly, checking under lumps of blankets. Far end, three empty cells over, Clark finds Slade in a sleepy sprawl on his cot against the wall.

"Slade." Bloodshot eyes narrow open, giving him a slow once-over. He's gotten that look from Slade before, but somehow, it's a little less threatening when there's steel bars between them. "I need to talk to you."

Slade grins, slowly sitting up in the bunk. "Wonder why." The grin widens, eyes flickering down to fix somewhere in the vicinity of Clark's zipper. "Looking for something?"

Does Slade think he's here to get a *job*? "You saw Marian the other night. Where is she?"

Slade's eyes flicker up, and Clark thinks he sees something flicker there--memory, recognition, *something*--but it's gone as the thick lids lower. Slade shrugs. "Dunno."

He's lying. "You were there. She left with a dealer. You know who. I need to find her."

Slade shrugs. "What will you do for me?"

Before Slade, and before the last time he found Marian in an alley, Clark hadn't had what sane people would call standards. After, he had some. Slade was top of the list as a trick Clark wouldn't do if he was starving to death. "Don't even try that with me. You know where she is."

Slade leans back, scratching at his forehead. "It's been a long couple of days, kid." The big hand slides down, cupping his crotch with a sleepy-eyed smile. "I may need help remembering."

The key feels suddenly hot in his hand. "Don't screw around with me."

"Kiddo, that's the only thing you have to offer."

Maybe.

Lifting the key, Clark lets him see it, watching the muddy brown eyes light up. A slow turn of his wrist, and Slade's sitting up straight, watching him with wide, sickeningly pleased eyes. When Clark locks the cell again, he laughs. "Changed your mind? Cause Marian ain't gonna be around forever--"

And like that, Clark thinks he can nearly feel the snap. Heat, orange-red and blinding, taking over, twisting through his head and burning behind his eyes, lighting up his entire head. It *hurts*. He has Slade up against the wall, feet dangling inches above raw cinderblock, but he can't even open his eyes.

Slade's making soft, choked sounds, but Clark doesn't pay attention. If he looks at Slade now, he'll kill him. It's that simple.

For a long time, there's nothing but the harsh sounds of Slade breathing in his ears, the warmth behind his eyes, and the body hanging from his hands. He can't. He has to. He has to--

"...I don't *know*," Slade is whispering, over and over. Clark doesn't believe a word.

"I need to find her. You saw her leave. Who was with her and where would they take her?"

Slade makes a whimpering sound, trying to pull away. Clark tightens his grip, knowing he'll leave dangerously revealing bruises. Slade gasps on a cut off breath, and Clark wonders if holding him up by the throat would bring the information any faster.

"Tell me." He could break bone, so easily. Better than frying him alive, but not by much. God, he can't--can't let this--can't let it--

"She left with some new guys. I don't know them, just of them. They cater to the uptown kids. Had a few around."

Crap. "How would Marian get into a party like that?"

Slade makes a strangled sound when Clark lets his fingers tighten even more. He'll press through flesh into scrawny muscle like a wet paper towel if he isn't careful. "I--I don't--"

"Where were they when they took her?"

"Seventeenth and Bradley."

The new money. Big, luxury condos. The place where all the new-rich went to live, insanely pretentious and expensive. Marian has no business there. She's not that kind of a hooker. "How. Did. This. Happen?"

Slade sounds like he's *crying*. It's enough, but just barely, to wash away the heat behind his eyes, and Clark risks a peek out. Nothing. Slade's face is wet and his nose is running. Gross. Just gross. "I don't--she's out of money. She needed someone that would give her credit. They would. She showed up, hung out, left with them. That's all I know, I swear." His voice is thick and he's gulping, like he's going to throw up. "I swear--"

"What kind of people are they?"

"Cut the throat of the guy that was selling to those kids before. They're not street. Heroin, heavy stuff. Not my scene."

It just keeps getting better. "Whose address is that?"

"Dunno." He screams then, and Clark thinks he can hear the collarbone crack. God, he didn't mean to--but Marian. With an endless supply of powder and no one to make sure she slept and ate and didn't--didn't take too much and-- 

"Marian's not into that stuff. That kind."

"She sure--is now." His voice is scratchy and harsh, breathing in irregular pants against Clark's skin. Never in his life has Clark wanted to hurt someone more. For leaving her there. For not telling him. They all knew he watched out for her. Everyone knew. And--

And that's just stupid. No one watches out for anyone else here. Everyone knows that. "How much does she owe?"

"Shit. Dunno." Slade's starting to sound faint, and Clark wonders if he'll pass out before Clark can get any more answers. "A lot. She blew through everything she had the first week. Around ten grand, give or take."

Oh God. Clarks hands begin to shake, and he steps back, letting Slade pool on the floor at his feet, whimpering softly, one hand against his collar where Clark's thumb pressed too hard. Breaks there *hurt*. Or so Clark's observed. "I want her back." There's no way he can make ten thousand tonight. He can't make ten thousand in a week. No matter how good he is. "Anything happening tonight?"

Slade whimpers, levering himself up. Clark watches, trying not to enjoy it, pushing the satisfaction aside at the pain on the man's face. He *knew*. Slade knew where she was, and if Clark had known before--if he'd even guessed it had gotten this bad-- "With them? Uptown. The Dodgeson kid's having a party while his parents are out of town. Went by to drop off some stuff. They might be there. They like that sort of scene."

Dodgeson. Not a familiar name. Gritting his teeth, Clark makes himself step away, turning to the door and fumbling the lock open, shutting it behind. Slade won't talk--he's not completely stupid. Clark tries to pull up a memory of--something. Uptown, somewhere. Those guys are there, and if Marian isn't, they'll tell him where she is. And God help them if she isn't okay.

It's almost a surprise to feel outside cold around him, feel sweat drying suddenly on his skin, chilling him in a way that he isn't used to. Another shock when he sees Lex walking by him to the car parked illegally at the curve. Like anyone would have the nerve to give him a ticket.

"You find out where she is?"

Clark has to swallow twice to make his mouth work. He's hurt people before, but it's never been quite like that. He never--he never *liked* it.

"No. Yeah." His stomach turns over at the memory of Slade's face, his body in his hands. It would have been so easy--so damned *easy*-- "Someone named Dodgeson. The dealers she left with may be there. I--" I don't know what to do. His mind blanks out. He needs a phone book. Hell, would they even be in the phone book? Uptown kid, playing while his parents are gone. Clark's seen them pretending low-class in the clubs, but he's never been to their parties, never-- "I don't--"

"I do. Get in the car." Suiting action to words, Lex gets in. It's not like Clark has any better ideas. Sliding inside, he rubs his hands against his jean-covered knees, trying to work out what to do. He can find this Dodgeson, maybe, but-- "I--"

"I know the family." Lex's voice is level. "She's there?"

"The dealers might be. Narcotics."

Lex gives him a short look before pulling into the street with a squeal of tires. "And--"

Shit. Clark rubs his forehead, feeling the headache start. He can't risk that, risk feeling this way, not now, not *ever*, but especially not now. "They're--she might owe them money. Niki said she did, and so they're--I don't know." Keeping her? Clark doesn't want to think like that. Marian trades sex for drugs when she can, but this--

"I think--I think I know who they are." Lex's voice is carefully neutral. Clark snaps his head around, eyes going to the bare skin of Lex's arms. Trackmarks. Right.

"You do it."

Lex shrugs. "Sometimes. If they're who I think they are--" Lex hisses through his teeth, looking annoyed. "It's hard to find a reliable supplier. The last--"

"Throat cut in a back alley?" It's always a back alley. A normal way to go, Clark thinks. No one dies at home in their own beds here. They die in the back alleys, get dumped into dumpsters, overdose in deserted parking lots because they can't wait to get somewhere safe to get their fix, even in the middle of the club when they take too much and get too high, and their bodies are left anywhere that's not there. They show up in the river and in abandoned buildings and the park.

Lex's mouth twitches. "Yeah." The smooth forehead crinkles in thought. Lex isn't as high as he was, and Clark knows the half-life of most drugs. Lex is recovering way too fast. Like those trackmarks--when he glimpses Lex's forearm, he can see they're faded to almost nothing, like he'd never been touched at all. 

"I--can you tell me where they--"

Lex grins suddenly, sharp and predatory, and Clark's reminded that Lex isn't like any of the other guys who come down here. "Think of it as part of the favor, Clark. I think I know where they live. So we'll go get her." 

But that leaves the money. Clark may be fine with whatever shit they try, but he can't watch Marian twenty-four seven, either. And if something happened, and he got them out okay, there might be questions, and he can't afford questions.

"And I'll pay them off." Lex sounds utterly blasé, like money's not anything at all. "It's--part of the favor, if you will."

Clark tries to imagine what Lex could possibly want in return. Slade was right--he doesn't have anything to offer but his body, and Lex doesn't seem to want that anymore. Or at least, not just that. It's completely weird. "Lex, you can't. I can do it." God alone knows how. He *could*, maybe. He--he could. There are things he doesn't do, hasn't ever, but for Marian, he could do them. It would be just this time. Just this once. "I'll find a way."

"You're not very good at this." Clark winces at the matter-of-fact way Lex says it.

"This is what I do," Clark says slowly. Lex is right, in a way. And in a way, completely wrong. "I can get the money."

"Then take it from me."

Clark feels himself stiffen. "What would you want?" Ten thousand *dollars*. That's like, a month with Stella. Assuming she fucked twenty hours a day or so. "I mean--"

"I'm--going to be out of town for a while." Lex turns on a brightly lit street. Better apartments, actual working streetlights. Clark blinks a little at the smooth asphalt, not a pothole to be seen. "My father hired me on to take over a plant in the country for a few months. So I won't be around as much." 

Clark felt his throat close a little, which is silly. It's not like he and Lex are--are friends. Though it argues the point, that this is something only a friend would do.

But Lex will be gone. Lex will be--not in the city at all. No random sightings, no watching, nothing. He won't have to wonder what Lex thinks he's doing when he fucks himself out in some run-down, abandoned building, watch him get so high it's like he'll never come down again.

"I want you." Lex's voice is still so damn *calm*, like they're discussing business or something. Which, Clark supposes shockily, they are. "For the weekend."

Clark blinks slowly. "When?" Ten thousand *dollars*. "What would--"

"I want to fuck you." 

Clark's stomach clenches, nausea rising. He's never been sick like this before, not just from--from-- "That's it?"

"No." Lex is turning on another street, all stately houses and high-end apartments. There are even trees planted in the meridians. Shiny-bright outside lights, police cars patrolling the streets, watching out for the wealthy. Not his kind of place at all. "Six times. One weekend a month for six months. I call, you come, no questions asked."

Lex hasn't asked for that, ever. That one night, where Clark had him against the wall--but never since. When he'd pulled Lex Luthor to pieces with just his voice and his mouth. Trying to show him who he was, *what* he was, why Lex shouldn't care, shouldn't want to help, should leave him the hell alone and let him just do this.

Clark has to swallow to make his mouth work. "Anything else?"

"You do whatever I want." Lex's eyes never leave the road. "However I want it. Whenever I want it. You don't touch, don't fuck anyone else while you're with me."

Jesus, Lex. Clark's listened to what they say about Lex. Lex does things that Clark hasn't yet. Does things that Clark can't quite do, simply because of the weird part of him. And he has no way to explain that. "I can't--"

"I'll respect your limits, to a point." Clark can't read him at all. It's like being in the car with a robot or something. "We'll discuss it next weekend."

Clark closes his eyes. "Next weekend?"

"I'm leaving a week from Monday. So. You in?"

Ten thousand dollars. Against his pride--or not. Lex wants it paid, he likes it paid now. The tabloids have been free of Lex Luthor for weeks, because he does it where no one talks.

Lex wants it paid, and maybe Clark's the one that taught him to do that. Licking his lips, Clark remembers Lex's fingers on his skin, the warmth of his mouth and how he kissed, like he was searching for something. That hadn't been a trick, for either of them. It--hadn't been. The same thing. 

"I--" He'd be stupid to turn this down. And Marian needs it, needs him. "All right."

Lex turns abruptly into the curve, motor revving, and then they're at a full stop in front of a building Clark doesn't recognize. Slowly, Lex leans back and looks at him. "One other thing.

"Pretend that you like it."

Clark nods mutely, not daring to answer any other way. His voice is caught somewhere in his throat and he can't get it out. 

With that, Lex gets out, looking at home under the clear, quaint metal street lights, wrought iron like some fifties fantasy of a perfect street. Clark gets out, too, staring up at the building, focusing on the matter at hand. He'll freak about the other thing later.

"They--" God, he sounds like he's been breathing smoke for weeks. "This is where they are?"

"This is where Dodgeson is." With us. Them. Lex's set, his friends. Walking by Clark, he slides a hand into the back of Clark's jeans. "If you're right, your friend Marian's working off her debt here. Come on."

Clark mutely follows the pull, past a doorman who only smiles, taking the money Lex hands over with a tip of his hat. This kind of place is what Lex knows. "She's--not exactly what--" She's not Stella, who can play the high-class call girl. Or one of the really expensive ones that people call escorts. 

"When we get in, don't try to leave me." They step into an over decorated elevator, and Clark stares at the velvet seat in the back for a second, the mirrored walls. "Do what I say, don't rush in to save her. We're going to make this very easy and fast. I don't think you want to make any enemies here. And don't talk. Not unless I say you can."

Clark nods slowly. Fast and easy is good. No--no stuff like he had to do with Slade. No making everything worse. Just--in and out, and Marian home safe. That'll all he wants tonight.

Bracing himself, Clark waits for the elevator door to open.

* * *

Everyone's high as shit in the darkened apartment, which is about what Lex had been hoping for. Ideally, he'll be able to alibi himself, and Clark if necessary; easy enough if anyone try to use these kids as witnesses. That's assuming it'll come to that.

With Clark drawn tight as a guitar wire beside him, it might. The kid has a temper, and Lex has seen enough of it to know it's not the kind that lets you think before you act.

Lex switches his grip to the front of Clark's jeans, pulling him through the milling kids. Younger than his set, but about the same level of stupid--younger brothers and sisters of Metropolis' young adult elite, ages thirteen to seventeen on the outside. Cops have already been paid off to keep quiet.

It hits him, as he amuses himself with the mean age of the room, that this is Clark's general age group.

And really, thoughts like that have no place here.

Clark's head bends dangerously close to his ear. It would be far too easy to forget what they came here for. "Do you know these people?"

Lex closes his eyes and misses a step, catching himself before he does something embarrassing, like trip, just from that warm brush of air. "A few." Maybe three. If he squints. Looking back, he notices Clark's eyes narrowing suddenly, and there's a really bad second where Lex wonders if he recognizes a former customer, but then Clark pulls, hand catching Lex's to drag him along, and God, what the--

"She's back--there." And how does he know that? Shaking his head a little, Lex jerks to a stop, and Clark actually manages to pull him along a few steps before he realizes Lex is dead weight.

And not for the first time, Lex has to notice, the kid is fucking *strong*. 

"Lex--" Clark is staring to the back of the apartment with that look on his face again. Lex sighs to himself. 

"We can't just run into any room that looks likely." Though in this crowd, it's not like anyone would notice. Worst case scenario, they'll walk into something they'll be invited to join, and Lex is still high and has been in the company of the prettiest boy he's seen in *years*. There is a very, very good chance he won't turn them down.

Rubbing his forehead, Lex sighs at the look of incomprehension on Clark's face. "But--"

"We need to be sure first." For a second, it looks like Clark will rebel, but the big hands finally relax, and it looks less and less likely that Lex will be having any kind of sex tonight. So. Checking the rooms would be a good idea, yes. But finding out which one she's in--if she's even here--should be first choice.

"All right," Clark murmurs, looking down. Thick hair falls into his eyes briefly before he glances up, eyebrows furrowed. "Um. Who are you going to ask?"

Yes, that's the question. "Let's see if our friendly neighborhood dealers are here. Or which room they're in. Everyone'll know that."

Clark frowns, opening his mouth, then shuts it again, frowning through the crowd for a second before looking at Lex. "I--there are kids going in and out of the first room down the hall. They look--kinda spacey."

And this is what height is good for. Lex uses Clark as leverage, pushing himself up enough to see, trying not to shiver at the big hands that settle on his hips to brace him. Clark has *great* hands. And so highly not-conductive to what thinking he can do right now.

Of course, in this crowd, he could outthink the room catatonic. It's not exactly hard. "Got it." Clark has either unbelievably good vision or some amazing luck--Lex can just see the kids trickling in and out. "All right. Don't talk. Don't threaten them. Don't, please, try and fuck around with these guys."

Clark gives him a blank look. "I probably know better than you do," Clark says, in that jaded-done-everything voice that makes Lex grit his teeth and wish he'd never met Clark. Lex had been bad at sixteen, but he'd never been this perpetual wound, either. Like everything was a cut that wouldn't quite heal. It's like sliding sandpaper on Lex's nerves every second. 

"Then keep that in mind." Clark nods shortly. That's the best he can hope for with this kid, after all. Shouldering through the crowd is an exercise in controlling irritability--they're too fucking drunk to *move*, and not a few hands go places he wishes to God he could afford to indulge. If they weren't all as jailbait as Clark.

And thinking that way does no one any good at all.

A too-high kid with too much eyeliner brushes past him, tottering on chunky heels. Green-lined eyes fix on them, dropping down to Lex's hold on Clark. She tries a sultry smile, unaware her lipstick is smeared and she's listing badly to port. "Hey."

"Not interested." Lex thinks he might have slept with her sister. Clark makes a softly startled sound, jerking closer to Lex as they pass her. Like the kid's never been touched inappropriately in a public place before. Or a very private place, Lex's mind offers idly. Bad puns are so not the way to go, but he finds himself fighting the urge to laugh. 

"Lex--" Clark tries to herd Lex toward the appropriate door by dint of pushing. It's annoying. Turning around, Lex pulls Clark toward the wall, wondering how on earth the kid survived this long and not somehow fatally pissed someone off.

"I'm going to go talk to them. You will stay here and look pretty."

Clarks' eyes widen, hands clenching at his side. Which is as good as confirmation that leaving Clark out here is a good idea. "Lex--"

"There is no way I'm taking you in there." And there isn't. Clark's too tight, and Lex is officially sober enough to notice. There aren't many situations you can't buy your way out of with money, but Lex isn't sure that whatever Clark gets up to if Marian's in there and they're reluctant about letting her go will be easily compensated. Not to mention he could lose another reliable dealer. "I'll take care of it." God knows, he's paying for the privilege of bailing out a hooker from a dealer, after all. Clark can damn well let him handle it. 

"But what if--" The green eyes cloud. "You--you'll be kind of alone in there."

Because Clark would be such great protection. Lex almost sighs. "I'll be fine. Just don't move, okay?"

Clark hesitates, then nods, and Lex steps away, glancing at the closed door.

This, at very least, is the least bored he's been in *years*. 

* * *

The seconds are like hours, and Clark's heartily tired of the hands he pries away from his chest and arms and ass and the *comments*--it's like being picked up, but totally different. Tricks are by nature somewhat anonymous and impersonal in both the negotiation and the sex. These girls--and guys for that matter--aren't.

Sliding right in front of him, with glazed eyes and wet smiles, trying to touch him or pull him away or do *something*. It's annoying, and it make Clark want his personal space in a big way. Pushing them away doesn't seem to help, but pushing them through the wall might be a little--much.

But God, they won't. Go. Away.

"I'm not *interested*." Even tricks backed away when he said that, and there'd been a few times. But these kids didn't even seem to *hear* him, and the temptation to grab one and shake her was tempered only by the fact he had no idea what was going on in that room. He could glance inside, but it was just skeletons, Marian's the most familiar, but Lex was pretty distinctive too, just in the number of healed breaks in his bones.

Makes him wonder if Lex's reputation is more underreported than not.

Another pair of warm, small hands slide up beneath his shirt, circling to scratch lightly at his back. Clark jerks his eyes back down, looking into foggy blue eyes. She smiles, pushing against him, and melting into the wall would totally be a *great* power to develop right now. "Hey."

Her nails slide up his spine like she's trying to read Braille. Clark reaches out to push her back. Slick-covered hips slide beneath his fingers, he can't get purchase, and God, she seems to think it's *encouragement* or something, squealing and pressing up flat against him. She looks his age, maybe, under all the make-up, but none of the girls he went to school with acted like this.

One little hand is trying to slide down his pants. Oh God. "Um, can you--" He reaches down, catching her wrist, and she pouts, shimming a little like she thinks it's supposed to be hot or something, and it's just not. Jerking her hand up, he almost feels guilty at her startled squeal, but not really, since even that doesn't make her go away.

"Come on." One thigh slides between his, and Clark looks around desperately. Doesn't she have a possessive boyfriend or something? Where the hell is *he*? "You'll like it."

Like *what*?

Her pointed pink tongue runs around her lips before she pushes herself up on her tiptoes, and that candy-pink mouth is pressed against his. 

It's--weird. She tastes powdery, like pills, and she's not good at it, wet and sloppy, rubbing up against him like it's supposed to be the greatest turn-on ever. Clark's head is flat against the wall from the pressure, and there's no way to get away from her without--without--

Suddenly, she's gone, cool air left in her place, and Clark opens his eyes to see Lex standing between them. He doesn't look happy. But he doesn't say anything either.

He's also alone.

"Lex--" 

"Not now--"

"But Marian--"

The blue eyes are sharper than Clark's ever seen them, despite the fact that there's a fresh mark on his arm that he hadn't even bothered to bandage, a trail of slowly drying blood skimming down to his wrist. "Not. Now. Come on." He darts a look at the girl, who melts into the hall, and Clark doesn't blame her. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that look from Lex either.

"I--I'm not leaving without her." And you're bleeding. 

"She'll be at what passes for home in the morning." Lex turns away, and he doesn't even seem to care that this time, he's knocking people out of his way. Clark looks helplessly back at the room, but just breaking in there isn't a good idea. Lex--Lex promised. That he'd help. Compensated with six weekends, even. So, there's got to be a reason. Swallowing, Clark follows him, noticing that people are starting to look. It's like earlier, Lex hadn't been so--Lexlike. Noticeable, or something. Now, it's like walking behind a spotlight.. Bright and cold and penetrating.

And angry, that too. Lex almost pushes him out the apartment door, slamming it shut behind them. Lex shakes his head sharply as Clark tries to ask a question, banging the elevator button hard enough for Clark to worry that he broke it.

"She'll--be back in the morning?" He can't just--leave her here. Like this. And not--. "She's okay?"

"As okay as a junkie ever is." Like he's aware of the irony, Lex runs his fingers lightly over the fresh trackmark on his arm, then absently wipes away a seep of fresh blood, absently licking it away before applying pressure. It's--strangely difficult to look away. Lex makes licking look like something you should have to practice to do that well. "She's utterly *blissful*."

That--doesn't sound comforting. "Lex? I don't--why isn't she coming home now?'

The blue eyes turn on him coolly. Whatever Lex took, it sure isn't affecting him much right now. "She didn't want to leave."

Clark opens his mouth, then shuts it tight. "Oh."

Lex stares at the elevator. "Yeah. Oh."

Clark looks back at the door, moving only at the sharp pull of his jeans--Lex's apparent new favorite spot, jerking at the belt loops so hard that Clark wonders if he just doesn't move, they'll pull right off.

They're silent on the ride down. Lex doesn't even look at him, which doesn't bode well. Little goosebumps trickle up Clark's back at the silent, jerky motions of Lex putting the car in gear, completely unlike his smooth, and high, efficiency earlier. They're two blocks and a left turn away before Clark can make himself speak.

"Lex?"

Lex stares out the windshield like its been calling him names. Not-nice names. Clark licks his lips. God, what if it was--what if it was more money? God, how much could she have--

"Did it--was it more?" Staring at his hands, Clark forces the words out. "More--more money?"

Lex jerks the steering wheel into a sharp left, skidding them back into familiar territory. Or more familiar territory, anyway. "Oh yeah."

Damn. "I--I'll pay you back." God alone knows how. "I--" Can work it off? Who the hell can anyone work off--

Lex brings the car to a stop. Right in the middle of the street. Pulling the emergency break, he turns in the seat, and Clark realizes, a little inanely, that Lex isn't wearing a seatbelt. "You think--Clark, you don't get it. Your friend's a junkie."

"I know that."

"No, you don't. Whatever the hell she was doing before, it--" Lex stops, fingering the steering wheel. "You're going to be doing this for the rest of your life, Clark. Do you understand? Paying off her dealers and bailing her out. Until you get killed or she does. And from the way she's going, it's going to be her."

There's a weird tightness in Clark's chest that doesn't go away when he swallows. "No."

"She's going to get herself killed. Are you paying attention? She's going to get so deep that she's going to get shot for screwing over the wrong guy. She's going to OD. Or she's going to go into withdrawal and kill herself. The only question here is the timeframe, and how long you'll keep fucking people to get her the money to do it."

"No."

"You want to whore yourself out to anyone just to feed her habit? Clark--" Lex stops, fingers tightening on the wheel. "You can't--"

"I can keep her safe." The words are forced out between clenched teeth. She's always been a junkie. This isn't any different. She'll come home and come down and she'll--she'll--

"You can't save her from herself." 

Clark stares at his hands. If he thought he could find his way home, he'd get out now, but even though the neighborhood's familiar, he doesn't want to spend the next two hours superspeeding between landmarks.

After a few long seconds, Clark hears Lex pull the emergency break, restarting the car. Lex is wrong. Clark knows it. Marian will come home, and everything will be fine, just like before. He doesn't know her, not really. She'll come home and be cranky, then it'll be okay, and he can take care of her. He knows how, and in a few days, it'll be like she never left at all.

* * *

Clark's never sure how he gets through the week.

He helps her to the bathroom and watches her throw up a hundred times, listens to her cry and ask him questions that don't even make *sense*. She sweats through both sets of her sheets and both of his. She curls up tight on the bed and won't talk for hours. She strokes her scarred arms like they're precious, rubbing until the scabs break and he's there, bandaging her up and trying to make her understand. She shakes and cries and begs for water and throws up again, and he can't make her keep anything down. He can't keep their clothes clean, either He's too scared to leave her alone to even do laundry.

He catches her twice trying to leave on shaky knees, dressed in her vomit-stained robe, like she could actually get anywhere in the condition she's in. She'd been strong enough to yell, though, kick him until she almost breaks her small heels. Rake her nails over his shirt and calls him. Names. Things she's never said before. Things that his clients say sometimes, because somewhere, they had picked up the idea it was hot to talk like a sewer. But Marian--Marian's--

Marian's not *them*, and she's never--she's never--

Lex sent methadone--a weird, brown paper wrapped parcel--and a doctor, a guy who Clark almost mistook for one of the homeless guys on tenth who always asked him for freebies. He grinned at Clark and smoked while he examined Marian. Told him things.

Told Clark how often she could have it, and how much, and how to administer, then patted him on the shoulder and looked at him with disturbingly clear eyes, though he smelled of a lot of pot and smoke. Clark had left them alone when the man gave Marian an exam. Does she use condoms, he'd been asked, and Clark didn't know. He'd never asked. But he doesn't think so.

It was two hours of staring blankly at the TV, remote control in hand, because he'd forgotten to turn it on. The man had come out--Toby, his mind supplied dully, he remembered when the man came in--closing the door behind him, looking at Clark with those same sharp eyes. Clark stood up, wondering if he was supposed to--if Toby was expecting payment--but Toby just sits down on the couch beside him.

"She's not coming out, kid."

Clark frowned. "What?'

Toby jerked a thumb at the closed bedroom door. If he listened carefully, Clark could hear her crying. "Kid. This ain't gonna do a thing to stop her."

Clark's mouth had gone dry. "She--she's always used drugs. I mean--" A lot. It wasn't ever a secret, just a pink elephant. They didn't talk about it, but it was there. Hell, almost everyone he knew did *something*. "She's never--she'll be okay in a few days."

The man had stared at him for a second. "Kid." He'd stopped, looking like he was trying to find the right words, which was silly, because he didn't know Marian. She'd always done it, but she'd come home and things would even out again. It was always like that. He *knew* her. "The stuff she's been taking--you don't come back from that unless you want to. And she don't."

"She's not like that."

"She is like that. Listen to what I'm telling you. I've been treating junkies for years. I know what I see when I see it."

"Like Lex?" He couldn't help it. Lex had--had to have said something--said something about Marian and that party and her not--not wanting to leave.

Toby laughed then--a real laugh, not the fake ones Clark sometimes heard in the clubs, not making fun or pretending to be cool. Leaning back on their little couch and just *laughed*. "Lex can't. He would have if he could. Fucking fantastic metabolism. He throws it all off eventually, even when he doesn't want to." Toby shook his head in wonder, then patted Clark gently on the shoulder. "Just get this. You can shove those pills down her throat, but nothing's gonna pull her out. The second you turn your back, she's gonna go back to her source and promise them anything they want for another hit. And another after that one."

"I can take care of her. I can--" Watch her. Always, if he had to. Every second. Until she stopped wanting it. 

Clark watched the man stand up, standing up, too, following him to the door. With another grin, Toby shrugged. "Your life, kid. But you better tie her down and cut off her feet if you want that to work." With that cheery thought, Toby had left, and Clark had gone to sit by her door, listening to her cry.

It's Friday morning when he realizes that he has to be away this weekend. First of six, and he rolls over in bed, trying to work out what to do. He made the deal, and Marian's here, and safe, and he can hear her sleeping, almost normally. She didn't throw up last night, and he'd even superspeeded downstairs to do laundry at midnight, and she'd still been sleeping when he came back up. She hadn't screamed at him when he coaxed her into a clean nightgown, and he'd averted his eyes from looking--not because nudity bothered him, because it wasn't anything, really, but because he could see every bone. Fragile skin stretched too tight. He could count her ribs on a glance, be cut by the sharp jut of her hipbones if he was human. She doesn't weigh much at all. He could barely feel her in his arms.

But--he can't leave her alone, either. She needs support and someone to make sure she eats and showers. To make sure she isn't--tempted to go out. Not yet.

Sitting up, Clark rubs a hand through his hair, wondering if they still have phone service. The bill was due, but they don't have any money. He hasn't tricked since--well, since Marian came home. They're almost out of food. Shit. *Shit*.

It almost makes him want to trick--there's a guy down the hall that's been interested, but Clark hadn't wanted to. Not in his building, where he lives and eats and sleeps. It wouldn't take long--Clark had seen him at the clubs, and if he's careful and knelt at just the right angle in the right direction, he could keep an eye on Marian, too.

There's coffee left--Clark shakes the remainder into the coffee filter and fills up the pot with water. Marian likes the smell, he thinks, even if the taste of it makes her sick right now. A few eggs are left in the carton. Some bread. She might like that. She held down the soup he made her last night, and she needs her strength back.

Humming softly, Clark keeps an ear cocked to her door while he starts cooking. Soft boiled eggs--Mom taught him to do that years ago. Dry toast, cut into the triangle fourths she likes. There's no juice left, but water will be better anyway.

A knock at the door makes him frown, glancing at the clock on the microwave, trying to figure out who would come by this early. If it's Stella wanting payment, it's just gonna have to wait. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he goes to the door, unfastening the chain and unlocked the bolt before opening it.

Lex, business immaculate, is standing there, and Clark has to blink twice. He's never seen Lex in a suit before. He's never seen anyone wearing sunglasses this early in the morning, either. "Lex--"

"It's Friday," Lex says, like Clark's incapable of figuring that out on his own. With him is a huge guy that Clark thinks he's seen around the clubs when Lex is feeling less suicidal than usual, suited up in that vaguely secret-service way that makes Clark think of Clint Eastwood. Lex pushes by him, glancing around the room. "Nice place."

Compared to the penthouse, it's a slum. Hell, compared to ho--Smallville, it's a slum. Clark waits politely, but the guy with Lex just stands there, sunglasses fixed somewhere above Clark's head. It's--creepy.

"He'll wait outside," Lex says, and Clark slowly closes the door. It's hard to do, though, with someone just standing there, watching him. Good manners are a habit as hard to break as drugs.

"I--you said the weekend."

"Weekend starts on Friday. I certainly don't have anything better to do." Lex circles the room once, like a caged animal, before dropping onto the couch, arms spread over the back. He looks like he wants Clark to do something, but it's way early in the morning for sex.

Or it could be that Clark's never tricked in daylight hours. Somehow, sex feels wrong when there's natural light involved. "I--I'm just getting Marian breakfast--"

"Tyler will take care of it. And her." One eyebrow goes up, probably at the expression on Clark's face. "You want her clean and sober? Tyler can do that. She'll be safe and sound when you get back. So let's go."

Clark blinks slowly. "I need to--to get some stuff--"

"No, you really don't. I'll get you what you need. Tell your friend goodbye and come. On." Lex taps his fingers into the back of the couch, looking impatient, and Clark realizes this may be only the second time he's ever seen Lex Luthor dead sober. Or as close to it as he ever comes. 

"I--" But Friday *morning*? "Okay." Slowly, he goes to the kitchen, taking a drink of coffee before picking up Marian's tray. He has to walk past Lex to get to her room, and he can feel Lex's eyes fix on him, watching his every motion. It's--different, again. In a club, on the street, he's used to it. It's part of everything. Here, it's more--something else. Intense. Making him aware that he isn't wearing a shirt and his jeans have holes in the knees because he can't get new ones right now. He can feel the look like a touch, scanning all visible skin, fixing on his ass for a long second that Clark knows he's supposed to notice, and it almost makes him stumble, when he's way beyond the shy kid who fell over his own feet every time he saw Lana Lang. 

Fumbling open the door, Clark balances the glass of water in the middle of the plate, wishing that they had some trays. Marian's still asleep, and Clark takes a second to look at her, curled up tiny and defenseless under her comforter, only a little hair and one small hand visible. Carefully, he puts the plate on her bedside table, crouching to look into her face.

The circles under her eyes aren't getting any lighter, and even in sleep, her mouth is tight and sharp.

"Marian." He keeps his voice low, so he doesn't startle her. She almost broke her hand on his jaw the last time he startled her. "Marian. Wake up."

She shifts slowly, and Clark watches as she pushes back her hair with one hand. For a second, he doesn't think she recognizes him when she sees him--her dark eyes narrow, like he's a stranger, or like he's that guy that keeps offering to be their pimp that scared her so badly. Then her face changes, and she smiles, a slow stretch of her chapped lips, licking them quickly before she splits one again. "Clark."

"I--I gotta go, okay?" He wondered all week if he should tell her about what he's doing with Lex, but she'd hate that. "Just for the weekend. I'll be back Monday morning."

She blinks, pushing herself up on one elbow. From here, he can see the way her collarbone cuts through her skin. She needs to eat. "Oh. I--where?"

Clark tries to think fast. For some reason, until now, he hadn't thought about giving her a *reason*. "Uh. A job. Kind of." He wonders about the food thing. She can't go out and trick--Toby hadn't needed to tell him that she couldn't work right now, a single x-ray had told him exactly how much she needed to not do anything at all for a while--but she-- "A--a friend is going to be here. If you need anything."

Her face goes blank for a second, then she nods slowly. "All right." Laying back down, she glances at the bedside table. "Oh Clark. You didn't have to."

"You need to eat." Standing up, he takes a deep breath. She's so tired, eyes already falling closed. "I'll see you later."

"Have fun, sweetie." 

Clark winces, turning away, wondering if he can get a loan from Stella or something. A few eggs, maybe some bread. He thinks there may be a can or two of soup left. She'll be okay. When he gets home, he'll just bite the bullet and go ask that guy downstairs if he's still interested. 

Lex is standing by the door, studying his phone with an abstracted air. Clark goes to the kitchen, taking out Marian's medication from where he'd hidden it. Toby had told him to make sure he administered the dose, not leave it to her, and not to let her have access.

"Marian needs--" he begins awkwardly, but Lex waves it away. Clark notices he's wearing gloves--thin leather ones, not warm ones for winter. More like some kind of fashion statement, along with the long black coat that looks soft and expensive, and the perfectly fitted dark grey suit. So not-Lex that he feels completely out of his depth. Like Lex is a different person entirely. Lex *Luthor*, he thinks, letting it click over in his head. The one that isn't part of the clubbing scene downtown and never gets blowjobs from hookers in backrooms.

"Tyler knows. Toby briefed him." Lex idly adjusts his cuffs. "Anything else?"

God, he wishes there was. Standing awkwardly by the table, Clark puts down the bottle and shakes his head. "Um. No. Let me get dressed." His laundry's still in a pile on the floor; he hasn't had time to put anything up. Hopefully, there's something unwrinkled in there. 

Lex nods sharply. "I'll meet you at the car."

* * *

It's a tiny little thing, all silver blue--Porsche, Clark thinks, recognizing the front--and Clark has to almost fold himself in half to fit into it. Hands shoved awkwardly between his legs, he watches downtown corporate Metropolis spread out before him in cold winter sunlight--overcast from the day, but so *bright*. He feels--exposed. Which is just silly.

"Are you hungry?" Lex asks politely, shifting gears as they turn onto an almost-familiar street. Last time he'd been here, Clark had been in a limo, letting Dominic grope him drunkenly, making soft, lewd suggestions about how he'd love to have a night with Clark after Lex was done with him. Something about that had *really* made the guy happy, and Clark had promised himself he'd swallow meteor rocks before he'd ever, ever come anywhere near that guy again. Ever.

"No." He's not, really, though off the top of his head, he can't remember when he last ate.

The garage he remembers better--here, Dominic had pushed him into the side of the car and stuck a hand down his pants. Murmuring how Clark was so pretty and had such a great mouth and how he'd love to see his lips around his cock. Swaying, grinning, so *pleased*.

"He likes them young and stupid," Dominic had whispered in his ear before licking it. Too wet and slobbery. Clark remembers how desperately he'd wanted to wipe it away. "Young and stupid and so pretty. You're so pretty, Clark. I'd fuck you myself if there was time."

There hadn't been, thank God, because Clark can't imagine Dominic being the first. Can't imagine how he would have stopped himself from running away, anywhere, as long as it was away from him.

"Clark?"

Belatedly, Clark realizes they've parked and Lex is half-way out of the car, looking at him with a curious expression. Licking his lips, he gets out, trying to force down the nervousness. It's just sex. It's not only something he's done before, it's something he does all the *time*. Residual exhaustion talking, he thinks, waiting for Lex to lead the way to the elevator. He's just so damn *tired*. It would have been nice to have a little time to sleep today.

It's weird, though. Lex doesn't touch him at all. In the elevator, in the hall outside the penthouse, though maybe that's understandable, since there's a guy there with a clone-y resemblance to Tyler. He barely seems to see them as they go by. Lex keys open the door and leads them into--

\--oh, warm dark. Not too dark, windows casting grey light through the room, but not the severe bright overheads either. Lex pulls off his coat, dropping it on a chair by the door, probably for a servant to get. Hurriedly, Clark looks at his shoes as he eyes the smooth pale tile floor, then takes them off, just to be safe. His socks are clean.

Lex doesn't say anything, just seems to expect Clark to follow. Clark wrestles his coat off, debating whether to leave it, then gingerly places it beside Lex's and pushes his shoes toward the wall. He can just catch up, and it's like Lex forgot he was there, except Clark can *feel* his attention, even when he's not looking.

The bedroom is just like he remembers, though. Clark watches Lex strip off the coat and place it somewhere in the depths of his closet, coming back out fiddling with his cufflinks before putting them and his gloves on the dresser beside his glasses.

It's--so awkward. Tricks are never like this. "I--"

Lex turns around slowly, unfastening his watch. Heavy-lidded blue eyes take him in, unhurriedly, just this long, thoughtful look, like Clark's a brand new possession. Which, Clark supposes, he is. "Get in the bed."

Right. That makes it--easier?

Slowly, Clark approaches the immaculate bed. Dressed? No, silly thought. Toeing off his socks, Clark unbuttons the flannel he grabbed from the floor, stripping it and the t-shirt off at once, putting them in a careful pile on a nearby chair with his socks. Jeans next. He can *feel* Lex's gaze, and unaccountably, he blushes. Daylight in this open, airy bedroom. Nothing like he's used to.

Pulling back the thick, soft comforter and the sheet, Clark forces his hands to his jeans. Why is this so hard? People watch him. They watch him when he dances and when he flirts, when he sucks them off, when they suck him off, when he fucks them, and when they fuck him. They watch him fuck other people. Lex has--there's nothing here that Lex hasn't seen before. Seen and in action, for that matter.

But his hands have never been this clumsy, even his first time, catching on the buttons and almost tearing them off, fingers shaking when he pulls them down. No boxers. People seem to like it when he doesn't wear underwear. He can't make himself turn around, like he would for anyone else, let them see what they're getting. He folds his jeans, which is just ridiculous, and drops them on the chair, then climbs slowly in the bed, wondering what Lex wants him to do. Provocative pose? Innocent kid? Usually, Clark knows--men, and women, for that matter, aren't hard to figure out--but Lex isn't giving any signals he can figure out.

He keeps his gaze on the bed as Lex slowly walks around the room. Closing the curtains, shrouding the room in near perfect dark. Better, more like night, more like normal. Clark's vision adjusts quickly, and he can just make out Lex, still in his nice pants with the top button unbuttoned, leaning into a bedpost now, watching him. Completely unreadable.

"How long has it been since you slept?"

And that is totally not the question Clark was expecting. "Um." He tries to think. Last night, a few hours, but he'd been too worried to sleep hard. Marian might wake up and need him, and if he slept too deeply-- "I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked." Lex drops to the bed like a huge cat--it's a weird comparison, but it fits. Moving like he's made of liquid, the way he dances, and Clark can't make himself move, even when Lex straddles his lap. "Been a long week?"

Clark swallows. Even in the dark, this close, he can see the scar on Lex's lip. He remembers the first time--the only time--Lex did this. It's hard to lie to him.

"Yeah." Flashes of Marian in the bathroom, writhing on the bed, telling him she'd kill him if he didn't let her go--he tries to force it back and away, focus on *now*, but Lex seems to see it. Warm hands frame his face, tilting it up, and Clark catches his breath at the little smile.

"It's okay." Gentle hands thread through his hair, and then, Lex leans toward him, like he's going to kiss him, and like he's giving Clark the option to pull away.

The first touch is just shared warmth--breath and soft skin and the barest taste of orange juice and early morning coffee. Frantic energy backs it--when Clark touches Lex, he can feel it, Lex wound as tight as a wire under the fine, silky skin. It goes on forever, and Clark barely notices when he's stretched back on big, thick pillows and he's gripping Lex, trying not to hold too hard.

Marian had always said, sometimes, you can like it, Clark. Why do you want to hate it so much? 

He could, he thinks. He likes this, likes the slow warmth and the way Lex coaxes his mouth open. No one kisses like this, slow and easy, like they're tasting him. No one just does *that*, breath coming soft and shallow, tongue insinuating inside so naturally that Clark's barely aware he's kissing back. It's just what feels right.

When Lex pulls away, Clark misses it. Wants it back. "Lex--"

Lex shakes his head, a tiny smile curling up his mouth. "Shhh. Get some rest."

What?

Nimbly, Lex slides off, urging him onto his side, and the warm arms slide around his bare waist after pulling the blankets and sheets up around them. It's completely unexpected--Clark stares at the far wall. "I--you don't want--"

Lex chuckles into his hair. "You're not the only one who's had a hard week." The arms are tight around him, like there's some chance Clark is going to try to get away. No one's ever--Clark's never shared anyone's bed. Never slept with another person. Living, breathing warmth against his back, fitted against his body like Lex has always been there. His eyes are falling shut on their own, lulled by the quiet. The thick pillows. The blankets draped over him. And Lex's even breathing against his skin, mouthing a slow, open mouthed kiss into his shoulder before settling down. Clark reaches without thinking, lacing his fingers through the ones resting low on his stomach, stroking idly. "Go to sleep, Clark."

Clark nods, letting it slide over him like a blanket, wondering at the feeling of it. It feels--safe.

He's asleep before he can make anything of that last thought.

* * *

It's full night when Clark wakes up--his body tells him, but so does the clock, glaring softly red from bedside table. Lex is a boneless, liquid sprawl across a third of the bed. Lex hasn't seemed that big, but somehow, he takes up three quarters of a king size bed without even trying. Almost trapping Clark, if he were normal, under one leg, fingers twisted in the pillow beside Clark's head. A restless sleeper, Clark thinks, trying not to move. He looks tense, even sleeping, like Marian, like even dreams aren't a place to escape to.

Clark's always known that, though. Carefully, he reaches out, running a soft finger over the sharp line drawn across his forehead.

Lex makes an unclassifiable sound and shifts over, just a little, enough for Clark to have a little room to maneuver. It--feels good. Clark gingerly moves until he's free, then settles himself comfortably on his side. Lex rolls onto his back, almost exposed, and in nothing but expensive looking pants and a sheet half-tucked around him, Lex is something to see.

And Clark--Clark's never seen him this undressed. Just his cock. His arms. A triangle of skin below his neck from his shirts. But this--the utterly bare skin of his chest. So Stella hadn't been exaggerating at all. 

It's not often, really, that he sees his tricks naked. He does it quick and dirty in alleys, in backrooms, in halls. One body is so much like another, though, in the end--muscle and skin and hair and sometimes, they want to be told how hot they are, or how much he wants them, which is sometimes kind of funny and sometimes kind of sad. Fat and thin and strung-out from too many drugs and not enough eating, but Lex--

\--Lex is different.

Curious, Clark touches, just lightly, but Lex doesn't twitch, so far down that Clark's not sure that even an earthquake would move him. It makes it easier to carefully pull back the sheet, letting himself study Lex, really *look*. It's not like he hasn't heard things, and not just from Stella, either.

So. No hair *anywhere*. True. Perfectly smooth, perfectly unscarred skin as far as Clark can see. Watching Lex's face, Clark slides the zipper on the pants down, working them carefully down narrow hips. Still, nothing. No underwear, either. Clark wonders if Lex does it for the same reasons he does, remembering what Lex said about sex.

Slim, though, all long muscle under the skin, no bulk on him at all. Maybe too thin, but perfect bones and perfect skin make up for a lot, and when he's in motion, there's really nothing like him. Hesitantly, Clark strokes down bare, bare arms, letting himself touch just for the feel of it. Hard muscle under, though. He's seen Lex hold a girl against a wall through two orgasms, so not a huge surprise. Surprisingly smooth, but not quite like a girl. Different from anyone else.

Pretend to like it, Lex said. 

Without Lex awake, watching him with all those confusing and conflicting signals, it's so much easier. Lex wants sex--that's the point of this, after all. And that's what Clark does. Working the cloth a little lower, Clark strokes careful fingers up Lex's cock, feeling the instant response, half-hard but getting slowly more interested.

There's nothing hard and confusing about this at *all*. Clark watches Lex's face. He isn't waking up, but the lines are relaxing, and Lex's hips shift at the next slow touch. Guys are so easy sometimes. Easier than girls, anyway. Everything's visible, predictable. Shifting down the bed, Clark braces a hand on the other side of Lex's hips, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, and swallows him down effortlessly.

"Christ," Lex whispers. Coming awake. Clark feels the fumble of Lex's hand, brushing the bare skin of his shoulder, arching a little. From there, it's just rote. Clark pulls off, licking around the head, feeling Lex get harder and the hand touches his hair. Surprised, maybe, fingers tensing when they touch Clark's face.

Clark looks up, mouth full of cock, and Lex is staring at him, completely surprised. Getting harder, too, and this look Clark knows. He uses his fingernails on the skin of his groin, just lightly, just enough to make Lex hiss, then goes down again, using both hands to pull the pants down, letting Lex awkwardly kick them off the bed. He presses his tongue to the underside of Lex's cock and slides his hand between long thighs that open for him like water. Uses his nails on the silky skin of Lex's inner thighs, presses gently at the skin behind his balls. Lex seems to get even harder when Clark rolls them in one hand, pushing one finger back to rub against that sensitive skin behind again, sucking as he goes back up. He wonders if he can make Lex yell.

From the way Lex tenses when Clark's finger slides back against his hole, there's a good chance Clark could.

"Clark," Lex whispers, but the consonants are all broken and jagged, pushed between clenched teeth. One knee slides up, foot braced on the bed, giving Lex room to maneuver, thrust against Clark's mouth. Clark relaxes his throat, pulling his hand back to work his finger in beside Lex's cock, watching the blue eyes glaze from the view. Pulling it out with a wet sound, he goes down and pushes his finger into Lex's ass at the same moment.

And whoa, that does it--Lex makes a surprised sound, balls tightening against Clark's hand, and he's way too close.. Clark pulls off quickly, wrapping his hand around Lex to keep him from coming quite yet. Jacking him slowly, bringing him back to a place where he won't come before Clark's ready for him. Pushing up, Clark straddles the long thighs. "Wanna fuck, Lex?"

Lex's hands settle restlessly on his thighs--the glaze is wearing off, but not the want. "Like--like this?"

Clark scans the bedside table, almost smiling at the condoms and lube, amongst other objects. The sex drawer, then. Slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Lex, Clark leans over, pulling the drawer open one-handed, dropping the tube and the packets on the bed beside Lex's hip. For a second, Lex's hands seem to freeze, and something less like sex drifts through them--thinking, or something silly, something that Lex doesn't do when he's clubbing or when he's fucking, but for some stupid reason, is doing now. This isn't any different, Clark thinks, as he raises himself on his knees, tightening his grip on the cock in his hand, earning a soft hiss. This is just like there, and Lex is as easy as anyone ever is when he's like this.

Reaching for a condom, Clark tears it open with his teeth. Nothing comes close to the visual sometimes--he's gotten guys off halfway across the room from them, the really repressed ones who don't want to admit they like cock. The ones who sit on the edges of the bars and drink slowly and watch him all night. He's jerked himself off on cheap motel beds and watched them come in sodden heaps on chairs, some cheesy porn thing playing on the TV in the background, like that somehow didn't make it sex if they just watched. Sliding the condom between his lips, he slides backward, levering himself on both arms, leaning down to roll the condom down Lex.

Lex jerks like someone just tazered him or something. Wide-eyed and shocky, going back to the place where everything's so simple. A little lube when Clark pulls up, and he slides back up, hand wrapped around Lex's cock, slowly sitting down on him, the thick heat filling him.

It never hurts.

That's what he remembers from the first time in the alley. Not just the cool surprise of it, how easy it was to drop his jeans and bend a little against the wall, just give it up and take it--but that it didn't hurt and it should have. Another thing to add to the list of things that made him not normal, more *proof* that there was something wrong, even if Marian had said there was nothing wrong with it at all. 

"Clark--" Lex whispers like a prayer. Clark closes his eyes at the look on Lex's face and pushes down the last inch, feeling Lex's hips against his ass. "Fuck."

"Stella says you like it hard. Do you?" He raises himself slowly, coming back down just as carefully. Lex is all wire-tension again, blue eyes drifting open and shut. Bracing a hand, Clark leans closer, flexible enough to brush his tongue over the line of Lex's collar. "Hard. And fast, so you remember it after."

Lex sucks in a breath like a hiss. "Yeah."

Remember it in bruises on shoulder and hips and thighs, bone deep, where he passes out in cabs on his stomach. All those secret places beneath his clothes, shading black and purple, fading green and yellow, depending on the day of the week. "Grab the headboard, Lex. You're going to like this." Breathe, he doesn't say. Lex will figure that one out for himself.

His body lets him do it like this--fast and hard, one hand on the bed for balance, his knees for leverage, and Lex is helpless beneath it. Leaning over to bite the tiny pink nipples, hard from the cool air, harder from Clark's lips and tongue and teeth. Reaching behind him to cup Lex's balls, feel them tight and tense in his hand, so close and so ready. Anything could push him over.

Lex's hands are white-knuckled on the headboard, lip caught between his teeth, bearing down enough to draw blood. Almost shaking beneath Clark, and it's all so fucking *easy*, Clark's almost surprised. Lex never makes anything easy for anyone.

"You're so hot, Lex," Clark murmurs, almost smiling at the way the blue eyes open at the sound of his voice. Riding harder, more than most people liked, but Lex hadn't said to stop, bucking into Clark every time, trying to force him faster. The warm hands settle on his hips, harder than Clark expected, not the perfect silkiness of his chest and thighs. Callused and tight, trying to make Clark do what he wants, whatever that is. Clark slows himself, almost grinning at the way Lex's teeth bare. Coming to an easy stop, using only his weight to hold Lex down.

"Move." It's almost a growl, voice low and harsh and breathy. His fingers tighten, like a warning, like Clark can be hurt.

"How do you want it, Lex?" he hears himself say, running his fingers down the silky inner thigh, then dragging his nails, licking his lips when he does. Lex hisses, focus lost for a brief second.

He's not balanced, which is why it's easy. And he's not using his strength, which is why Lex can do it at all. This supple twist that Clark doesn't expect, Lex uses his feet for leverage, tumbling Clark onto the bed. He's too surprised to catch himself, or stop Lex from rolling him over on his stomach, ass in the air, and then a hand's on the back of his neck and Lex is *pushing* into him, hard, one long, surprising stroke that Clark can almost feel in his teeth.

"You're very good," Lex whispers in his ear in that same jagged voice, raking his teeth slowly over Clark's shoulder, a shivering sensation. "You were good last time, too." The next stroke is longer, more force behind it, Lex settling himself into the rhythm he wants.

"Lex--" His cheek's pressed to the softest cotton he's ever felt, smooth and almost slick, hands twisting in the sheets, then grabbing for the headboard before Lex shoves him through the wall. God, he's strong. Clark hadn't expected that. Not *as* strong as Clark, but no one could be. He'll bruise his hips on Clark's ass doing that. Clark can feel the first slick of sweat building, slicking his skin from Lex, chest rubbing against his back, still so impossibly smooth it's almost frictionless.

"You're good," Lex whispers again, against his ear. A brief press of tongue, making Clark shiver suddenly. Different again. "I've watched you, you know. You never let anyone forget you only do it for money. Everyone knows they aren't getting anything but the surface, don't they? All this pretty skin and pretty face and pretty ass."

Pretend to like it, Lex had said, but Clark has no idea how to do that.

He bites his lip before he says something incredibly stupid, like exactly that. The hand on his neck tightens. Close. Lex is close. Lex mixes up sex and anger all the time. Clark--forgot that. He shifts, and that just seems to goad Lex more, sliding his legs farther apart on smooth cotton, and God, Lex is even deeper.

That tongue is back, like Lex knows how that feels. Grazing the lobe of his ear with his tongue, more intimate, closer, than the cock up his ass. He can ignore everything, learned to, but he can't quite escape this. Not the way Lex makes him stay here for it.

"I. Want. *More*."

In that voice, like he says his name and says what he wants, like he can't imagine there's a world where he can't have it, and anything else that exists. Clark catches his breath at the certainty, the hand that braces on his hip, gripping tight, pulling him into every stroke. The words sharply punctuated with another thrust, then Lex tenses, draped over Clark's back, thrusting hard once, again, he'll tear his own *skin* doing that, then just stopping with a breathy sound, so deep inside that Clark thinks Lex may never come out again.

It's perfect silence after, except the harsh pant of Lex's breath against his back. Slowly, almost like it hurts to pull out, Lex moves away, discarding the condom with a wet sound in what Clark hopes is a trashcan, falling on the bed beside him. Clark lets himself down easy onto his stomach--that's another thing he's learned, because sex like that wouldn't be easy for anyone. His hands, though, shake a little, and Clark can't figure out why.

When he looks at Lex, the smile's almost mocking, but gentler. Like Lex is laughing at something else and expecting Clark to share the joke. "I need a shower." Leaning close, he brushes a kiss over Clark's lips, like they'd just woken up, like they hadn't just fucked, fingers twisting in Clark's hair with gentle strength, and Clark leans into the warmth. Sliding lithely off the bed, Lex walks to the bathroom, like the bruises blooming on the thin skin aren't there at all. 

Lex naked and in motion isn't anything Clark can look away from, not until the bathroom door swings shut between them Slumping completely into the mattress, Clark reaches for the blankets and pulls them up around him, habit, not need. They smell like Lex--like Lex and him, like sex--but it's comforting somehow. Clark buries his head in the pillow, letting his eyes close.

Drifting feels good.

* * *

Motherfucking little *cocksucker*.

And literal, at least the last part.

Christ, everything hurts. You don't do sex like that first thing when you wake up, or the rest of the day--or night, in this case--isn't going to be fun. Even for him, bone-bruises aren't something to sneeze at. Standing under the showerhead, eyes closed, Lex considered just going back to bed, but he'd slept himself out, and he hadn't even meant to.

Clark had looked so tired, though. The strain of caring for Marian had been written into every inch of his body, the slump of his shoulders. Lex remembers the few minutes of watching him fall asleep like a desperately exhausted kid, and God, did he look it. Looked sixteen, felt sixteen, even to the tiny smile and shift of his body when Lex touched his hair, unable to help it.

Not nearly enough for Lex to stop wanting him, but just enough to make him twist. He remembers the stoic kid in his bedroom too well, even if the only place he'll ever see him again is when Clark sleeps.

"Fucking cocktease." And that's completely inaccurate, and he knows it, staring at the wet tile in front of him and wishing he'd taken painkillers before he got in the shower, because shit, he hurts. And it'll be hours before this shit clears up.

"Fuck." Leaning into the tile, Lex reaches for the shower gel blind, keeping his eyes closed. It was good sex. It was fantastic sex. It was fantastic sex with someone who wasn't even in the room, and maybe next time, he'll give the fucker a *book* so he won't get bored. Even Lex high as a kite notices when someone fucks him.

He *thinks*.

"Shit. Shit shit shit." It's like being pissed at Dad for being an asshole. He can do it, but he can't act like it's not a pattern, a part of the package. This is part of Clark. And he gets that, he does.

"Lex?" The sleep-thick voice is all it takes, and it hurts, calm to hard in one point three seconds. Lex listens to the door open, thinking of cold water and that ass Clark had picked up two weeks ago, with the hair growing out of a mole on his chin, but unfortunately, the visuals are overlaid by Clark on his knees in Lex's bed.

"Yeah?" Reaching down, Lex runs his fingers lightly over his cock. Shit. And shit again. He's not near ready. He's not even *close* to being ready.

"Someone keeps calling."

"The staff will get it." Burying his head under the shower, Lex thinks of ice cubes, Metropolis winters, and what Stella told him about Clark. Nothing he didn't already know. Nothing he couldn't guess. Nothing at all useful. Thinking of the town he'll soon be trapped in--Smallville? What the *hell*?--Lex resigns himself to the fact that there is no time in the future that this kid won't pretty much have his entire attention. There's nothing else to *do*.

Strangely, he doesn't hear the door close, and the unmistakable sound of the shower sliding open chases it. Opening his eyes, it's his pretty little rentboy, looking at him from beneath impossibly long lashes. Considering this is Clark, he knows it's not his cock Clark is looking at. Oh well. "Something else?"

Clark shrugs, and it's almost unreal, how he shifts, from this pretty kid to this--pretty professional kid. Tiny, teasing smile, a deliberate once-over that, if Lex hadn't been hard before, he is now. Shit. And *shit*. "Want company?"

Like he's capable of enough rational thought to refuse that. And when does rational come up in sex anyway? Smiling, Lex leans back into the tile. "My shower is your shower."

Clark naked is an experience in itself. Clark wet and naked is wet dreams and extremely high quality porn all at once. Lex grinds his fingernails into his arm to keep from reacting, though his body gives it away. Well. It's not like he brought Clark here for a few rousing games of chess, after all. All that perfect golden skin, slicked like latex over defined muscle, and it's unfair. He should look his fucking age. Lex never had a thing for kids until him. 

Sliding under the spray, Clark tilts his head back, eyes closing, and it slips again, just a kid relaxing, and Lex forces himself to watch and not touch, though it's hard to even think with him this close. Reaching over, one muscled arm picks the shower gel from over Lex's shoulder, pouring it slowly into his hand, with the kind of concentration usually reserved for quantum physics.

It's a surprise to feel the hands on him. Lex catches his wrists, then wonders if he's actually as utterly crazy as he's been suspecting he is. "Every second doesn't have to be sex, Clark."

The big hands hesitate, millimeters from Lex's skin, and the dark eyes turn down. There's no return of the professional when Clark looks up. Just curiosity. "I--just want to touch you." He licks his lips, possibly the single hottest second tonight, with some serious competition from the bed a few minutes ago, then frowns. "It's just--you're different."

From everyone in the known universe, he doesn't say, but his eyes drift down, like he can't help but look. Right. That. "There was an accident when I was a kid. Radiation exposure." There's not really much to add to that, and he's not sure if Clark's listening anyway. He's never had this level of concentration turned on him by anyone. It's not even sexual, but it's definitely something. Letting go, Lex nods slowly. This is going to be--different. "Go ahead."

Clark makes it simple at first. The big hands slide over his shoulders, barely light enough to feel, over his neck, not quite lingering on the places that should have hair, but definitely interested. A slow, aching trail over the backs of his shoulders, fingers almost but not quite pressing in. Just enough to feel him, now, and Clark takes Lex's stillness as carte blanche, running down his arms in slow, thoughtful strokes, thumbs pressing into the insides of his wrists. His hand gets an inordinate amount of attention, fingers lacing through his, like Clark's contrasting their skin, pale against summer gold.

Christ, Lex thinks, tilting his head back as one hand slides over his collar. Clark has his lip caught between his teeth in thought, like he's learning by simple touch. Skimming his chest once, so lightly it's almost a tickle, coming back again for more substantial strokes. Thumbs brushing his nipples, circling under his ribs, and Lex lets his arms be urged up, palms spreading against hot, wet tile when Clark's hands slide down from elbow to rib. Stroking there, *touching* there, almost like being polished, and Clark's never anything but curious.

The heat and the water are making Lex easy, easy enough to turn when Clark urges him, cock aching but strangely distant, like he's not entirely in this room at all. The only places real are where Clark puts those slick, hot hands, the places the water from the shower falls on him. Clark runs one hand down his back, lingering just above the curve of his ass. 

There's the tiniest hitch in Clark's breathing when he speaks. "This--you feel--" He stops, obviously not sure of how to phrase it. Lex nods dreamily, forehead pressed against the title. He could stand here all night. All day. Just letting Clark do this. "I don't--I don't--no one's usually naked." Both hands drift down Lex's back again, like he can't quite make himself stop. "I--"

"Do whatever you want." Lex shivers at the big hands on his ass, slowly and methodically feeling him. "What else did Stella tell you?"

Clark snickers, and Lex listens to the mindbending sound of Clark getting on his knees. He's apparently taking a full body survey, up and down. Christ. "Nothing I couldn't guess. After--after I talked to her, she'd come and tell me. I think she was trying to make me jealous or something." Warm breath just on the top of his thigh. Lex closes his eyes, imaging Clark sitting back on his heels while he looks, then shivers as Clark slowly touches his thighs, pushing them apart for better access. Dear God. "If the sex took as long as it took her to tell me about it, I'm impressed."

"She's very easy to please."

One big hand wraps around Lex's knee. Who knew the backs were erogenous zones? Lex hadn't. There's a chance he could come from this, Lex thinks contentedly, trying not to rub up against the tile. Just like this. "She likes it. I mean, not all the time, but her regulars are people she likes to fuck. She's kinda picky."

Lex wonders if he should feel flattered. Probably. "You don't? Like it, I mean?"

Clark sighs, but he doesn't tense up, so this can't be a sensitive subject. Or at least, naked in a shower feeling up someone else, the kid's not feeling freaked about it. Clark's hands are on his ankles, just idly stroking. "I--" He stops, sighing, and Lex feels dark hair against his thighs as Clark leans forward. "Not really. It's not real. I don't want to pretend it is."

Lex has watched. Clark *has* no standards, or at least, not comprehensible ones. But this really isn't the time to ask, especially when Clark seems to be pulling back. "Okay."

"Turn around." 

There's something in Clark's voice that makes Lex wonder, but he obeys, leaning back into the tile, looking down to see Clark watching him. Waiting for something, for Lex to do something, want something, maybe. Lex just waits, and the soapy hands touch his hips, head tilting a little when he sees Lex's cock. Just a brush with those soapy hands makes Lex's teeth ache. "You want me to take care of this?"

Oh hell yes. "No." Because this will stop, and Lex doesn't think he could stand that. "What you're doing. It's--" There's not a word in the English language that describes this. Clark nods, content, and his hands slide down, back to that endless, curious touching. Clark's not getting hard from doing this, but so much of sex is in the mind.

Clark strokes up painfully close to his groin, thumbs rubbing circles in the bruising, apparently fascinated. "Radiation? Were you--sick?"

Lex shakes his head. Watching is almost impossibly hot. Watching just the tip of Clark's tongue caught between his teeth is impossibly hot. Jesus "No. Just. An accident." He barely recognizes his own voice. Clark glances up, then continues what he's doing, which is. Amazing.

Knees. Calves. Feet, again. Those clever fingers seeking out every inch of skin, and Lex thinks he's never been this clean in his life. When Clark stands up, reaching for more of the gel, Lex almost sighs, eyes closing. They could do this all night, if that's what Clark wants. Take it back to the bedroom, let Clark stretch him out on the bed and just touch.

The first touch on his head opens his eyes wide. Clark almost jerks back, then stops. "You don't mind--"

"No." It's automatic, but he's--not sure. The slow, dreamy daze still thickens the air, making this somehow okay too. It's not even strange when Clark leans forward and kisses him, big hands cupping Lex's skull, massaging the skin, over the back and down to his neck, across his forehead, thumbs curling over his ears. And God, Clark knows how to kiss, but a little too hard, like he's used to doing it with sex. All panted breaths and too-fast rhythm that settles when Lex shows him how it's done. When it's like this. Soft. Gentle. Careful, but Clark's always careful. The big, restless hands settle finally, on either side of Lex's face, and Clark takes control of the kiss, using what Lex showed him.

All so curious, so *new*, that Lex isn't even tempted to push. When Clark breaks away, his lips are red and swollen, and he looks--surprised. "I--do you want to--" He makes an elegantly obvious motion downward. "I mean, I can--"

"In a little while." He wants to touch Clark, so badly he's ruining his manicure against the tiles of the bathroom wall, can feel it in his teeth. Wants it so badly it's an effort to not reach out, but he's not sure how Clark will take it--no, he knows how Clark will take it, and he doesn't want that right now. Not after this. "Get cleaned up."

"What--um, what are we doing?" Clark reaches for the gel again. Clark's going to smell like Lex all night tonight. Every time he's close, Lex is going to remember this moment, those hands, those long fingers on his skin.

"Pretty much anything but staying here." Reaching for the shower door is the hardest thing Lex has ever done, but he's got to. "Hurry up. I'll tell you where we're going when we get there."

* * *

"It's called incognito," Lex tells Clark, who looks at him like he's crazy. Lex can't see why. "What?"

"You can't do incognito." Lex is the recipient of another almost-suspicious look as Clark shoves both hands into his new coat. Yes, Clark, I'm trying to buy you with winter coats and jeans. That'll do it. He doesn't sigh, but only because Clark is walking too close and would probably hear it. "You--don't have the right attitude. I mean--it's like. You really aren't--um. Unnoticeable."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He almost stops, but Clark's sometimes not all that aware of his surroundings, which might mean Lex is left standing like an idiot on the sidewalk in a muffler and hat, feeling even sillier than he does now.

Clark's nose wrinkles in thought. "It's like--you really stand out. I mean--"

"I get away with it downtown." The clubbing district, granted, takes way too many drugs to have any kind of long term memory, but still. "No one--"

"Most do. Not in a bad way." Clark shakes his head, more to get his hair out of his eyes than anything else. He needs a haircut, maybe, but Lex likes it like this too much to consider suggesting it "But you're kinda recognizable, you know? Like, there's a sort of agreement to let you do your thing, 'cause you'll screw them over if they don't, but if they leave you alone, you'll leave them alone. Which really works, by the way."

It's moments like this that should dissonate more. Clark just shouldn't look like he knew that kind of thing. But he did. Just like he kicked at a small pile of snow or a tin can when it came in his way with a tiny smile of glee and liked PG-13 movies and, apparently, really long walks in the cold. The bad part of being incognito is being unable to utilize his name for decent parking, but apparently, it does have certain perks.

"Great." Lex watches Clark glance at him again from beneath his bangs. It's impossibly hot. "I bought you jeans, Clark. I don't expect blowjobs for jeans. Really."

"Then why--"

Because I want to. No one asks him why, except Dad, who's incredibly stupid sometimes when it comes to understanding someone else's motives. "Because considering circumstances, I didn't think you'd done laundry." And from what I've seen of your wardrobe, you couldn't do incognito in your clothes any more than I can. 

"Oh." Clark nods. He's not a kid that's used to something for nothing at all. It's not a surprise--Lex isn't either. "What are we doing now?"

"Don't know, don't care." Somewhere his dad can't call and ask if he's being a good little corporate drone, going to bed at a reasonable hour and spending all his time staring at spreadsheets. The very idea of it makes Lex yawn. It feels disgustingly like being a teenager, but he made this deal, and while he's damn well going to keep it, he sure as hell doesn't have to like it. And hell if his last full weekend in Metropolis is going to be spent on his computer. "We'll find something to do."

"I expected--" Clark's voice trails off. "I mean, I can see why not, since your friends might recognize me or something--"

"I seriously doubt that." But he doesn't doubt the current topic of conversation is Jeremy's unfortunate series of disasters. Missing contracts. Construction workers going on strike. Perhaps even certain executive assistants who will murmur corporate secrets in bed, or over the top of a desk they're bent over. Not to mention the fact Jeremy's starting to ask desperate, unhappy questions about why this is happening to him, and just might, on the outside, see Lex Luthor's hand written all over this. Maybe a few other people in Metropolis could pull of something this complex this fast, but Lex doubts it. And those pictures Stella got for him--well. Jeremy's not stupid. Lex isn't taking any kind of chance right now. "Believe it or not, I go clubbing to get away from people who know me, not to find them."

"I'm here."

"I like you."

There, a smile. It's slow and goofy and warm, like Clark can't imagine anyone liking him for any reason. One arm bumps Lex's casually, but he doesn't quite move back again. It's warm. "How long are you going to be gone?"

"Six months is what I agreed to." Christ, six months in the boondocks. Clark's arm brushes his lightly, and Lex wonders if he can get away with inviting Clark down to the town for the weekend. Clark would get a kick out of the castle. He wonders what the residents of small town American will think of their new manager importing his favorite hobby. It would, at the very least, make things more interesting. "I'll be back some weekends." Or he'll go crazy. Just like that. Slowly, painfully go crazy, surrounded by amber waves of grain and livestock. Lots and lots of livestock. Or so he's heard. "Miss me?"

Clark rolls his eyes. "Not worrying about you getting in over your head might be nice." The arm bumps his, and it's all so normal Lex wonders if he skipped a dimension over by accident. Clark watches him? Very interesting. "Though Stella will be heartbroken. You're totally paying her rent these days."

"I'll make a note to visit her when I come into town." Stella's fun, and has absolutely no interest in pissing him off, which is kind of nice. She's also moved to a much better apartment recently, which is why she's very accommodating when he wants something and doesn't ask why. Between her and Tyler, Lex is relatively sure that Clark won't take a breath that he doesn't know about. "Was Marian okay when you called?"

Clark flushes, head ducking. Like Lex didn't notice his furtive use of the telephone earlier. "Yeah. I heard her griping about more eggs, so. Yeah. God, I need to go shopping."

"Tyler's taking care of it."

Clark gives him another narrowed look. Still looking for the angle. So this could be kind of fun, in a way, coming up with outlandish excuses for doing things for Clark. Clark will get used to it, eventually. Time is pretty much on Lex's side. "I wanted you for the weekend. With me. Not half of you still sitting by Marian's bed, counting her breaths while she calls you names." 

Clark has the grace to flush. "Point taken." Slouching a little, Clark glances around, eyes narrowing in thought. "I think we passed the parking lot."

That's what Lex gets for going places with people he actually likes. He loses all track of time and space. Not to mention this is the single longest conversation Lex has had with Clark. In retrospect, it could be the longest conversation he's had with anyone for almost his entire time in Metropolis. "Shit. We're three blocks too far." Turning on his heel, he flexes his hands in his gloves. It's getting cold. Not that Clark seems to notice. "Anything in particular you want to do tonight?"

The novelty of being asked seems to strike Clark dumb for a moment. "I--don't do much." His voice sounds uncertain. Probably wondering if this will lead to bizarre sexual requests or something along those lines. "The movie was nice. And when I said you were lousy with hookers, seriously, I had no idea, did I?" Another shoulder nudge, almost hard enough to knock Lex off balance. "Cause you are so bad at this."

"Blah blah fucking blah." Reaching out, Lex pulls Clark's elbow, turning into the covered parking lot of the LuthorCorp building. He may be incognito, but damned if he's paying for parking if he doesn't have to. "I'm young, rich, and bored, with a reputation for not being completely sane. Please. I don't do anything like anyone else." And never will, if he has his way. Which isn't even a question.

"That's what this is?" One gloved hand waves between them, almost casually if Lex hadn't seen the look on Clark's face right before he asked. Far in the distance of the parking garage, Lex spots the car. Lexus' are so beneath him, and his bitterness will never end about that name. That such a squat, boring piece of metal should have his *name*-- "Boredom?"

Lex reads the question underneath it, the one that Clark probably isn't even thinking. "I like you."

Clark's disbelieving look only has half the force behind it that it should, which is really a step up. "Uh huh."

"Then give me a logical reason for what else would be so inspirational?"

At least Clark has to think about it for a minute, which is something. That tiny frown again, like he's balancing things up in his head. "I--I don't know."

"You scared the shit out of Stella when she threatened to sell me to the Inquisitor." Like he wasn't going to bring that up with her after Clark told him. "Why?"

Now Clark looks--embarrassed. The flush extends down his cheeks and up over his face. Lex wonders if his entire body turns that color, wonders what he can do to make Clark look like that in bed. "I--you were nice." Lex bites his lip against the grin. "When we met. After. I--you didn't deserve that."

"You could have sold me out to the Inquisitor yourself. Believe it or not, even I would have some problems getting away with a story about me and an underage prostitute. Dominic contacted you about it later, didn't he?"

Clark nods. 

"So. Don't worry about it." Taking out his keys, Lex pushes on the button of the car alarm. "Now, do you--"

"He's the reason why?"

Of course, this is how his night is going to go. Beside him, Clark goes tense, eyes narrowing, and Lex grabs for his elbow before he can move. Shit. And fuck. "Jeremy?"

The voice is somewhere to the left of the Lexus, but it's way too dark to work it out. Clark is tense under his hand, still staring, like there's some chance he could actually work out his location. "Hey, Lex. Thought you might want to know that Dad fired me. So you can leave his company alone."

Well, great. That was easy. And didn't require nearly as much effort as he'd expected. And here Lex sold himself off to Smallville, but really, who would have thought family loyalty was that vulnerable to profit margins? "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I pay attention too, Lex." There's a shuffling sound, like awkwardly placed feet, and something like the scrape of metal on concrete. Not at all comforting. "You know, I--what the hell did I do to piss you off? Him?"

Lex feels Clark stiffen beside him. Fuck. "Don't say something you'll regret, Jem."

"I don't have anything left to regret. Dad thought I was doing it to piss him off, you believe that shit?" There's another dragging sound, coming closer, and Lex tries to remember if Jeremy owns any guns. Even if he didn't, it doesn't mean he doesn't have one now. "Now--he cut me off. And your dad's just circling, isn't he? Waiting for the stock to fall a little more. You fucked up my life, and for *what*? A fucking hustler from the slums?"

Beneath his hand, Lex can feel Clark tensing, but a glance shows his face doesn't betray a damn thing. "Jeremy, this isn't the time--" 

The sound of a gun cocking answers the question of whether or not Jeremy's armed. Lex had been hoping for a no.

"You don't want to do this," Clark says calmly, and damned if he doesn't sound like he means it. "Just put the gun down. You don't want to hurt anyone--"

The first bullet is so sudden, Lex doesn't even realize he was touched until the blood slides down his cheek. Reaching up, he feels the graze, just at the edge of his cheek. Christ. Gun and a homicidal bend, not to mention fucking excellent aim. And this had been such a good night.

"Oh yeah, I do."

Lex thinks he can actually *see* the second shot. Like a slow motion video cam, some really masochistic version of watching your life pass before your eyes, or watching your own death coming on you at one thousand feet a second. Beside him, Clark makes a soft, shivering sound, and Lex feels Clark push him.

God, Clark, *no*. 

The smell of something burning fills the garage, and then he hears the solid sound of his head hitting concrete before everything dissolves in black.

* * *

Clark did three checks for bullet wounds before they left the garage, frantically scanning with eyes and hands, and found nothing. The penthouse had been the fastest run of his life, and he still has no idea how he'll explain it to Lex.

He hasn't woken up. Clark's seen enough concussions to know the signs, but he's not usually around to watch the recovery. 

On the bed, Lex is motionless the way he never is, and Clark feels the headache start again, burning fast and furious over his forehead, licking down his skin like hot wax. Closing his eyes, Clark forces himself to be calm. Losing control in that parking garage had been bad enough. Losing it here would be a disaster.

Standing up, he turns blindly to face the direction of the door. The headache slows, moving to a slow, rhythmic thump against the front of his head, like something's trying to get out. When he opens his eyes, everything's a dry red haze, but at least he's not destroying anything.

Lex's Lexus, however, is a lost cause. He'll worry about that when it comes up.

Rubbing his head, Clark goes to the bathroom, mindlessly finding a washcloth and soaking it in cool water. When he comes out, Lex is still laying there, dirty and still and frightening, and Clark crawls up on the bed, stretching out carefully beside him. The graze isn't nearly as bad as he thought it was--it's almost like it's closing already. Gently, Clark wipes away the blood, running the cloth over the flawless skin that only a few hours before, Clark got to touch.

 "It'll be okay," Clark whispers, hands almost shaking. Marian lay like this once, when he found her at dawn behind Roger's, the bar she liked best. She'd taken hours to wake up, so long that he'd thought of hospitals and doctors before he remembered the explanations that would have to follow.

God, even that man that Lex had sent to Marian--Clark bites his lip, settling his head on the pillow, eyes trained on the still, quiet face, the slow rise and fall of Lex's chest. 

So close. Clark hadn't known he could move that fast--this second where the world stopped moving and he saw it, hanging in the air, aimed straight for Lex's heart. The--that--he'd *shot at Lex*. Like he was anyone. Like he was--

And to think, Clark had worried that Lex's partying was the danger.

"Lex," he whispers, tentatively wiping the cloth over his head again. It's so stupid, but he can't stop doing it. It's that or jitter himself into insanity watching Lex lay here, desperately still and so quiet. He snores. He takes blankets. He doesn't know the meaning of the word 'rest'.

This--can't be. It can't. "Lex. I need you to wake up." Where the hell are his bodyguards? Why didn't they come with them? Why would he leave them behind? Though who the hell could have seen *this* coming?

"He won't do that again," Clark hears himself say. "I think he--he's going to leave us alone." He will, Clark can tell. Some people don't have the right kind of backbone, and Jeremy was drunk and stupid. His natural prey are the weak or the helpless, people he can hurt without consequences. Failing with Lex, who *could* fight back--totally different thing. "Leave you alone." Clark can take care of himself. There's a coin-flat bullet in his pocket to prove it, smooth edged every time he touches it, to remind himself that Lex hadn't been hit. And he can take care of Lex, too. He proved that too. "It's okay. I just--I need you to wake up, Lex. Please wake up."

How long did it take to wake from a concussion? An hour? Was more than an hour dangerous? Curling his fingers in the blanket, Clark fights the headache again, coming strong and fast. Easier this time to focus on keeping the heat back, but harder, too. "Lex. I need you to wake up. Please."

And laying here, watching, will drive him crazy. Getting up, Clark forces himself to go the kitchen. There's no staff around--has he not rehired since he fired them the last time Clark was here? There's food in the fridge, though not much--milk, orange juice, an epic amount of strange smelling cheese. Getting two glasses, Clark pours orange juice, hesitating before he closes the fridge with one foot. This need to move, t--to do something. Get away. Run. Come back and sit at Lex's bed. Find Jeremy and make him understand that you didn't *do* that, not to Lex.

And wow, Lex had fucked over his *company*? 

Coming back to the bedroom, Clark scanned Lex again. Still no broken bones, just like the last time he looked. Heartbeat slow but steady. The abrasion on his face was closed completely. And wasn't *that* interesting. Sitting the glasses down on the bedside table, Clark reaches for the cloth, wiping at the wound gently. Just reddened skin, like a weeks-old healed cut. Not--

A hand clamps down on his wrist. Surprised, Clark looks into very open, groggy blue eyes. "What--" Lex frowns, coming back slowly, then wincing. "Are you--what happened? Shit, my head hurts."

"Jeremy shot at you."

Lex stares at Clark for a second before letting go, lifting himself up on both elbows.

"Maybe you should--um. Stay laying down." Clark fights the urge to push him down. Is it a good idea to sit up after a concussion? Why hasn't he checked into this more? "Are you--what year is it? How many fingers--"

"Don't you dare. I'm fine. This isn't the--first time." Lex blinks again as he sits fully up, but at least he doesn't try to get up. "I--he shot me?"

Licking his lips, Clark takes a breath. "He--yeah. At you, I mean."

"I could have sworn--" Lex stops, staring intensely at his knees, like they have the answers he wants. "I could have sworn it would hit you."

"If it had, I'd be dead." The trajectory had been for the heart. Him or Lex. "I--are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just a headache. How did we get back?"

Wow, Lex is just Mr. Must-Know, isn't he? Clark picks up his glass of juice, watching Lex's face carefully. "I--can't drive stick. I called a cab. I--I said you were, um--" It sounds believable. He thinks. "Anyway, he got us back here. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else--should I have called a hospital?"

Lex gives him a startled look. "No. Your instincts were right. I don't like hospitals. Are you okay?" His eyes run over Clark like he has x-ray vision of his own.

"Okay. He ran off after." Dropped the gun and all. The most inept attempt at a felony Clark's ever seen. 

"Where's Jeremy?" The chill in the air isn't just the room. Clark stares at the glass in his hand, thinking of Jeremy, dropping the gun to run, like he could possibly escape whatever Lex would do to him for that one. Clark's not even sure he knew he hadn't hit either of them. He's pretty sure that Jeremy wasn't around to see Clark start that fire on the car he'd been hiding behind.

Clark almost--almost regrets he wasn't still there, though, and that worries him a little. "He ran."

Lex's swings his legs off the bed. "There's nowhere far enough."

"Wait." Clark shifts from chair to bed, hoping to God he didn't move too fast. Lex stares at him for a second. "Not--I mean. Concussion. Rest? For a while?"

Lex gives him a strange look. "I'm not going to hunt him down tonight. Just--find out a few things." Lex's eyes flash to the untouched second glass of orange juice. Mutely, Clark reaches for it, handing it over.

"Then do it later." Lex needs to rest. This Clark knows. Even if the cut on his face is almost gone. "Um. Let's watch TV." Lex almost spits out the orange juice. Clark can't help grinning. "Maybe another special on Alexander the Great is on. It'll be like old times. Or the other time, anyway." Whatever. Lex looks interested, though--amused as hell, but interested.

"Uh huh." But at least his legs swing back up on the bed, not off to wreck vengeance on Jeremy and all his family. Which seems, when Clark thinks about everything he's heard, a very Lex thing to do. Clark could have told Jeremy that pissing Lex off just isn't a good idea. All of lower class Metropolis knows it. Some of them better than they want to. "Fine. Get the lights and get up here."

Finishing his juice, Clark grins, sliding out of his shoes, padding to the door to flip the lights off, leaving the room dark before the TV flickers on. Lex is stripping off his jacket, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, generally making himself comfortable. A narrow strip of skin is revealed, still faintly dark from Clark's mouth where he bit him, and Clark finds it's hard to look away from that. If he looks closely, he can even see the imprint of his teeth.

Stretching out on the bed beside Lex, Clark allows himself to relax as Lex flips through the channels idly. It's familiar, though the hand that brushes his cheek isn't. He almost starts, but Lex is staring at a news report on something involving chemicals and farmland--not terribly interesting, but Lex is acting like they're talking about proof of the discovery of God. Much easier to just lay there as the hand moves to his hair, fingers sliding through it idly. It's nice. Just touching, like Marian does to him, except Lex lingers, like on the back of his neck under his hair, making Clark's skin prickle pleasantly. The slow strokes down his back are even better, and Clark closes his eyes.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but he does anyway.

* * *

Clark can't remember the last Saturday he spent awake doing absolutely nothing. Whatever staff there is seems to be invisible, food appearing on command, Lex wandering the penthouse in casual tan slacks and a mostly unbuttoned shirt ,which Clark approves of immensely. Clark can't tell if it's the aftereffects of the concussion or just some until now unknown Lex-quality of lethargy, if you left out the fact he spent several hours in the gym while Clark was supposedly sleeping.

A discreet x-ray assured that Lex wasn't wandering off to be randomly attacked by former friends, so all seemed fair.

The ring of the telephone brought Clark up from his doze on the newly made bed. A short shower ago, someone had changed the sheets, and Clark had collapsed onto it with a book he fell asleep reading. Clark wasn't sure how he felt about that. Clean sheets were good, but they didn't smell like Lex. They also didn't smell like blood or cold sweat either, which was on the plus side as far as Clark was concerned

"Yes, Dad?"

At some point, Lex had returned and, apparently, showered. Lots of smooth, silky, slightly damp skin in view, a plum towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and a telephone in his hand. He looks less than happy.

Stretching, Clark watches Lex pacing the room. Not mindlessly, no--here for underwear, there for his watch, a detour into the closet for clothes. Coming back out in something that definitely wasn't fit for normal public venues.

Hmm.

"Yes, Dad, that's exactly what I'm doing. My last night in Metropolis, I'm going to *review plant statistics*. That's sounds exactly like something I'd do." A pause. Fascinated, Clark pushes himself up on both elbows, resting his head in his hands. The restlessness is back, the day's slow pace gone as if it had never been there at all. "Please. I only sold six months, not my life. It can damn well wait." Another pause. Lex sits on the bed, picking up a boot from the floor. Ah. That kind of a night. "Yes. It's wonderful to talk to you, too. Don't call again . I won't be in." Clicking off the phone an tossing it in the general direction of the nightstand, Lex wrestles with a lace for a second, but by the looks, the lace is going to die rather than surrender.

Gently, Clark insinuates his hand between Lex and the lace. "I'll do it."

With a frown, Lex swivels on the bed, stretching out. "Go right ahead." He's still frowning at the ceiling, one part frustrated, one part angry, and this kind of thing really explains Lex's moods when he goes out. At least, some of them.

Untangling the mess Lex made of the laces, Clark pulls the foot closer. "Um. You okay?"

Lex snorts. "Great. Better when I'm out of phone range. The Arctic is starting to look disturbingly interesting."

"Well. No clubs." Clark laces up the boot, keeping at normal speed. "No five star restaurants. No--"

"No you, either." Lex lifts himself up on both elbows, looking amused now, not homicidal. "What would it take to tempt you to the Arctic with me, Clark?"

Over the top of Lex's knee, Clark grins. "Endless snow, ice, and no life. Let me think about that one"

"Like you have a life. I'll bring a library of DVD movies for you." 

If Lex would consider a constant state of near nakedness for touching, Clark might actually consider it. Not practical, in the cold, but still-- "I'd miss the city."

Lex's head tilts. "Would you?"

Actually, strange to say, but yes. Metropolis was nothing like he'd dreamed growing up in Smallville, but it had its compensations. Night runs in the park. Downtown lights. Sometimes just hanging around, with Niki and Stella or just alone, having coffee. Quiet dinners at home with Marian, when it was possible. Hanging out with Lex. New. And also good.

Also, something he'd be missing, when Lex left the city.

"Yeah." He'd hated it the first three months, but--that had changed. The difference between Metropolis and Smallville had made it so easy to become someone else, and Clark sometimes looks back and wonders, a little, how far the difference is between who he'd been when he'd come here and who he was now. "It's--safe here." Wow, that sounded epically stupid. Biting his lip, he finishes the first boot and reaches for the second one, slipping it onto Lex's unresisting foot. "I know everyone. Where everything is. And it's--home." When that had become true, he couldn't be sure, but it is now.

"Hmm." Lex lays back down. Clark carefully begins the lacing. "So I suppose tempting you out of the city once in a while for the next six months won't be possible."

"It's possible. You're paying. And you said lots of movies, right?"

Lex grins, and Clark can almost feel the tension draining out of him. Tying the boot off, Clark leans forward, bracing both elbows on Lex's knees. "Where are we going tonight?"

"A couple of places." Crossing his arms behind his head, Lex studies him. The intense expression is normal. The speculation is not. "I got a call about my car."

"Oh?" Well, it's not like he didn't see that one coming. "What about it?"

"Seems like it was set on fire."

Pretty damn noticeable, that.

"The police think an accelerant was used. Jeremy's currently in hiding--if I know his mother, and I do, he's out of the country until she thinks I've forgotten all about it."

Ah, so Jeremy's taking the blame for that one, too. Fair enough. On the scale of things, rampant vandalism's still a lot lower on the scale than attempted murder.

"Did you tell the police Jeremy tried to kill you?"

Lex looks thoughtful. "No. It'll wait."

It might at that. If Jeremy, or his mother, thought Lex would forget--well. They didn't know him very well. "So. Do I need to get dressed?"

"I like the boxers and t-shirt look myself." In one of those cat-fast movements, Lex is sitting up. "Naked is better."

Clark had been wondering if Lex was going to actually *do* anything besides look at him. All day, he'd been waiting, and if it wasn't exactly anticipatory, he can honestly say the idea of naked Lex hadn't been something to make him run screaming, either. 

"In public?" Even to himself, his voice sounds breathy.

"No. I'd rather save that for myself." The kiss is fast, barely a whisper of feeling before Lex draws back. Clark finds himself leaning into it even after Lex has moved away. A thumb presses briefly to his lower lip, lingering on his chin. "There are clothes in the closet. Get dressed. This is probably the last night in a long time I'm going to actually enjoy myself, and I plan to make the most of it."

* * *

In the bathroom, Lex rubs his nose, eyes closing for a second as he tilts his head back. "I always want to sneeze." When he looks at Clark, sitting on the sink beside him, his pupils are completely blown.

Clark watches him finish cutting. Lex makes drug use look classy and faintly sexy, in that way Clark is beginning to suspect is only true with Lex. He's watched it before, but never seen done with other than makeshift tools, users running toward oblivion at top speed. Lex enjoys the entire process, though, raising it to the level of ritual. It's more than just getting high, as Lex had explained, waving around a shiny razor like an appetizer. It's foreplay.

"Want?"

Clark eyes the thin lines on the small mirror for a second. "It doesn't work on me." 

Lex leans back, fluid beneath the black leather jacket. "Really?"

"I've tried. A lot." At the beginning, he'd almost been relieved. Too much of a temptation. But Lex makes drugs look--well. Interesting. Like they're more than just a way to make things not real. "It's--sometimes I get lightheaded, but that's about it."

Lex looks thoughtful, then nods before finishing up. Several of Lex's friends are wandering around the door--not that the bouncers would *dream* of coming in here, or stopping Lex if they did--but Lex likes his privacy. 

"I could find you something." Lex checks the mirror one more time, but he's nearly vibrating already. Clark almost grins as Lex turns around, pushing Clark's thighs apart, hands settling on his hips, thumbs drawing slow circles on the denim. "I can find anything. You are so hot, you know that?"

Clark grins, hooking a foot behind Lex's knee, drawing him closer. "You are so high, you know that?"

"Not yet, but I will be." It occurs to Clark, belatedly, that what few inhibitions Lex has in public are seriously going to be coming down tonight. As if he's reading Clark's thoughts, one hand slides in the back of his jeans, the other locking under his chin, pulling him into a slow kiss. Lex tastes faintly of whatever it was he'd drank when they came in, but mostly it's pure Lex-taste. He can't help the shiver from the finger sliding into the cleft of his ass. It's--different somehow here. People are watching--never a big thing of his, though his tricks sometimes get off on it. Wait. People are watching him with *Lex*. That's the difference.

"Pretty, pretty boy," Lex murmurs in his ear, teeth on the lobe, just pressure. "We have so much to do."

"There are people in here."

"They don't matter."

Tilting his head, Clark reaches down, running his fingers over the bare skin low on Lex's belly. Did Lex own a single pair of non-suit pants that didn't ride disturbingly low on his hips? Sliding off the counter, careful to keep the contact between their bodies, Clark wonders if Lex would like to be jerked off now. Slow, while he's still feeling the first rush. Pressing farther down, Clark grazes his knuckles over the front of his pants. Lex hisses and closes a hand over his wrist, holding him still.

"Not now." The glazed blue eyes close, and Lex bites his lip before stepping back, letting go of Clark's wrist to wrap his fingers in the waist of his jeans.

It's not quite like the first club Lex took him to--was that only a few months ago?--but it's similar enough as to make no difference. If he squints, Clark even thinks he recognizes some of the same people. Anna, definitely. That short, pretty brunette. And a few of the guys look familiar, but that could be because he's seen them downtown, too. They look at him speculatively, like they may remember him from somewhere, but no one's propositioning him for sex on the spot, so he just smiles. Anna's smile back says she remembers the last time they met. And that she wouldn't mind picking up again where they left off.

Oh. No. Definitely not.

Three bottles and a mysterious white pill later, Lex is acting like he's not entirely sure he's supposed to be earthbound. Or that there are places in any club that it's just *fine* to be mostly naked, but the middle of the dance floor isn't one of them. Or is it? The alcohol may be getting to him. Lex made him spend ten minutes learning the difference between six brands of whiskey. By the shot glass. Lex feels good, familiar and warm, finger skating over his t-shirt-covered back, sometimes grazing the bare skin of his waist.

It may be good, in retrospect, that Lex drove automatic to get here. Clark can at least drive them back.

"Anna's stalking you," Lex murmurs in his ear, as he pulls them out of the crush again. The crowds don't bother Clark, but the smells are beginning to get to him. Not so much unpleasant as condensed--human sweat, perfume, alcohol, other--things that he's just not sure of and doesn't want to be. "I'm going to have to do something about that."

"Ruin her company?"

"You are so *funny*." Lex's hand slides up the back of his shirt, scratching at his spine with those sharp little nails. "And sober."

"Not so much." Lex is right. Anna's following them. "You know, I don't think it's me she's after."

Lex just grins, dropping into a couch. The previous occupants, not being stupid, leave immediately. Alcohol appears from somewhere. Clark suspects that there are those among Lex's friends who really don't do anything but follow him around to give him whatever he wants when he asks for it. Sitting beside him, Clark curls up one leg under him. "It's you. I've slept with her." Taking a drink, Lex makes a face. "This tastes like water."

"You've drank so much, you probably don't know the difference anymore." Clark sniffs from the glass Lex holds out, frowning, then takes a tentative taste. "Yeah. That's definitely not water."

"Mmm. Shit factory."

And that's random. Lex's hand closes over his thigh, patting it gently. "What?"

"Where Dad's sending me, did I tell you? It's worth it. Mostly. Six months and I'm free. But damn, I wish I'd just--" Lex trails off, the patting coming to a stop. "I'm not thinking about this tonight."

"About what?" Anna's slide onto the arm of the couch is so smooth, it's almost like she just appeared out of nowhere. The tiny, narrow shorts remind Clark vaguely of the outfit Stella picked out a few weeks ago, which may say a lot about Lex's friends. "Been a while, Lex. How have you been?" One long-nailed hand rests on Lex's shoulder, but her eyes are fixed on Clark.

This can't be good.

"Anna." Lex turns to look at her with a smile, but the hand on Clark's thigh tightens. "Fuck. Off. Would you?"

"Someone's manners are already rusticating." One fingernail scrapes the side of Lex's neck, drawing bright blood. "Be nice to a girl, won't you?"

Clark has no idea how his hand ends there first, jerking her back and away. The wide eyes stare at him for a long second before she winces, pulling sharply. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

Clark's beginning to see why Lex prefers Stella. "Then go away." Someone's hands rest on his hips, and Clark looks down to see Lex smiling up at him. Well, of course he's smiling up at him. Lex is *high*. And very, very drunk.

"Let her go, Clark." And for a wonder, Lex sounds more mellow than pissed. "We're otherwise occupied tonight, Anna. Run along now."

With a frown, she slides off the arm of the couch. Clark lets her go. "You've gotten to be a real bitch, Lex."

A quick pull, and Clark's in Lex's lap, and Anna's completely forgotten. A hand slides up the front of his shirt. Again. Not so much worried about the presence of an audience. Clark finds his hand automatically going to wipe away the blood on Lex's neck before it reaches the collar of his shirt.

The slim fingers close over his wrist, and Clark watches Lex pull Clark's hand from his neck, looking at the blood-stained fingers. For a second, he studies it, like he's never seen fingers before, and then--oh. He *sucks* them. It's not even showy or anything, like some people do it, like it's supposed to be oh-so-hot. Just this slow, steady suction, eyes closed, Lex's tongue slipping around and between them, and Clark's suddenly trembling and not sure why.

Through leather and denim, Clark can feel how hard Lex is, and for once, he's not entirely sure what to do.

Licking his lips, Clark tries to think of something to say. "Lex?"

"Hmm?" The fingers are free with a wet plop that somehow manages to be louder than the thrumming beat of the music. Dropping Clark's wrist, Lex straightens on the couch, both hands on Clark's face, eyes fixed on his mouth.

Deliberately, Clark shifts on his lap. The blue eyes close as Lex sucks in a slow breath, then open, dark and bottomless, like a lake at midnight. Lex's hand slides to the back of his neck, and Clark goes down willingly, tasting the blood on Lex's lips, on his tongue, shivering at the slow, suggestive movements of his tongue.

He wants--something. Lex's hands under his shirt, stroking his skin like he had earlier that day. Has no idea how to tell Lex that, and he's not even sure he should, except Lex said to enjoy it, and Clark thinks he might be. At least this. With shaking hands, Clark reaches up and pulls Lex's hand down, sliding it to the waist of his jeans, fingers brushing the bare skin. Lex gets the idea, though--sliding up his spine, twisting his nails into skin on the downstroke. A normal person might be hurt, but it's all tingling sensation, like Lex's mouth.

When Lex pulls back, his mouth is red and swollen. Clark reaches up, touching the soft, wet lips, trying to catch his breath. It's so different. "Sex," Lex says softly, licking the fingers like a cat, "is mostly in the mind."

Maybe. Clark nods, leaning down to mouth the skin right above Lex's collar--it makes him twist just like *that*, pushing up into Clark's thigh, and it's salty and metal tasting from the drip of blood. Clark follows the trail, licking it away, finding the cut with his tongue.

"Clark," Lex murmurs, and Clark sucks, just a little, enough to bruise where she cut him, pulling back to stroke his finger over it. Already closing. But the bruises that Clark's made stays. 

"Bathroom." Though there's a temptation to do it here. Clark can't even to explain to himself why. It's there, though--pull Lex's pants down just enough, work his own jeans down--on this couch, in front of all these people, he could get Lex Luthor off, and they'd *watch* , and that seems like such a fascinating idea. Anna and her long nails, these other people, seeing this, watching him with Lex, watching Lex. Pushing himself off the couch is the hardest thing he's ever done, but pulling Lex up after is easy. Those hands on his bare skin again. "Come on."

Lex on a mission isn't someone you fucked around with--a look opens up a stall for them, and so the hell what if they needed to use the bathroom, they could go to the alley. Clark closes his eyes as Lex presses him up against the bathroom door, mouth against his throat.

"What do you want?" Clark whispers.

"Everything." Lex twists his nipples, and wow, that's new and interesting. "Whatcha got?"

Jerk him off against the wall. Blow him. Bend over and Lex can fuck him. From the short pants in his ear, Lex isn't going to wait long, and Clark likes the way Lex rubs into him, cock to cock. "Anything you want." Sliding one hand into the top of Lex's pants, unbuttoning with the other, cock hard against his palm. No underwear to get in the way. Clark lifts his hand, deliberately sucking two fingers so Lex can watch--and that's just for show, just to get that look, but it's fun to make Lex look like that, starving and impatient and needy. Reaching back down, he runs his thumb around the head, then drops down to his knees and takes Lex in his mouth.

Instantly, fingers are twined in his hair, and above him, he can hear Lex murmuring things--things that he can hear, so maybe other people can too, outside the bathroom door. Lex's friends, who are somewhere out there, and strangers.

It only takes a few swallows--Lex must have been riding this edge all night--and then Lex is coming, gasping out something that doesn't even sound like a word, fingers tight in his hair. It seems to go on forever, and Clark keeps swallowing, keeping hold of the narrow hips so he doesn't collapse, mouthing the softening cock in his mouth as the gasps ease, then slowly pulling away. Standing back up, Clark rebuttons the pants, leaning his head down to mouth Lex's throat again. The cut's nearly completely healed, but the bruises stay.

Lex is almost boneless against him, making Clark grin. "Worn out already?" he murmurs into one ear. Lex snorts softly, pulling up, but not away, and Clark can keep touching that perfect skin. 

"Not even close."


	2. Chapter 2

Marian's in the living room when he comes home from work, fully dressed, and Clark finds himself hesitating as he closes the door.

The last few weeks haven't been--bad. Not any worse, really, than the worst of her times-after, when she'd come down and not want to. Part of it is wariness--he's not sure what to do if she insists on being allowed to go back out. It's not like he can tell her not to, or enforce it, but--but it's so much easier like this. Safe, where he can watch her and care for her. Too tired those first weeks to want to go anywhere, happy enough with the methadone that Toby brings weekly. Content to stay in bed and let Clark worry about money and rent and everything else.

It's--not bad.

This is different, though.

"Clark." Her smile's almost like he remembers it, bright and shining, and he watches her stand up with painful slowness. She's still so thin, and she has problems holding down food. Moving quickly, Clark drops the groceries on the coffee table and eases her back down. "How'd it go?"

"Good." Better than good, but he's more careful now. He keeps a second cache of extra money under a floorboard beneath his bed. Even Marian would have problems sniffing that out. Just in case. "Kind of quiet." Three blowjobs and a half-hearted hand job in the bathroom stall of the subway. Still, it had been fast, leaving him half a night to relax a little, stop a few muggings. Crime is never good for business. The last time there'd been a murder, it had been of an unfortunately semi-prominent member of society, and that had been several very, very bad weeks. Customers get shy of places down here if there's recent proof someone died.

Plus, God knows, Clark really can't afford for the police to be wandering around here too often.

Reaching over, he picks up one of the bags, rummaging until he finds the hamburgers. "How are you feeling?"

She smiles, head cradled on the back of the couch. "Okay. Just still tired. Thanks." Taking the paper wrapped hamburger, she unwraps and takes a small, tentative bite, looking at him the whole time, like a kid waiting for approval. It's unnerving. "Clark. I've--wanted to talk to you about something."

"Okay." This is new. Sitting back, Clark takes a bite of his own, wondering if it's too early in the morning to go to bed and just sleep for a while. He's restless, in this way he knows is new and unsettling, isn't used to at all. A few days ago, he gave up denying it and named it Lex.

He misses Lex.

It's--really strange. It's been nearly three weeks, and God alone knows how many tricks, but he wakes up remembering things about Lex. Not-sexual things, exactly. Normal things. Lex's close and personal relationship with his toothbrush, a full five minute cleaning in the morning. The way he sprawls over the entire bed and Clark, too. The way he smiles at Clark, like he doesn't smile at anyone else. The way he tastes when they kiss--and Lex can kiss for hours, almost all of that Sunday. The bedroom, the living room, in his office chair, until Clark was hardly able to think about anything but that soft, swollen red mouth. It's--distracting even now, in memory.

"It's about--about us. You."

Clark jerks his attention back to her.

"You--you're very fast." She's careful how she says it, like she isn't sure how he'll react. Considering the first time, he'd denied it to her face while standing over the latest in the proto-pimps who saw Marian as easy money, it'd been pretty damned unbelievable.

"Yeah." Even now, it's hard to just spit out like that, and just surreal over a hamburger on their couch. Taking another bite, Clark watches Marian play with hers. Her attention is clearly somewhere else entirely. "Mari. What's the problem?"

"It's--not a problem. Just." She bites her lip. "I know you don't want to let people--see you. Do things. And you don't. But we could--if you wanted to--we could do other things."

Clark's heart seems to skip a beat. "What?"

"Morgan Edge. He'd--Clark. You're exactly the kind of person he'd hire on. And it'd be real money."

Somewhere in the back of his head, Clark feels something burning, hot and bright. "No."

"No, listen first." Putting down the burger, she reaches for him, small fingers wrapped around his upper arm. "You hate this. You hate everything about it. And you're--Clark, he could help us. He could help you. Get you ID and a good place to live and God--you know what he'd do to get someone like you?"

Like hot wax, flowing beneath his skin, all over again. Oh God. Not with Marian. Not with Marian, please. "Mari--"

"It's a hell of a lot better than this. Real money, a nicer place to live, food, not having to worry where we'll get our next trick--Clark. You have to have thought about this!"

No. Never. Not even when he was close to starving. There are so many things he can do now that Smallville Clark never, ever would have done, but work for Morgan Edge--do the things he hires back street thugs to do--no. *No*. "Do you know what he does? What he'd want me to do?"

She looks him straight in the eye. "Yes." 

Suddenly, he can't hold the hamburger anymore, his head aching like he was hit by something heavy and hard, though nothing hurts him, and Marian knows that, too. Putting it down with shaking fingers, Clark starts to get up. "Mari, I can't talk about this right now--"

"When are we? When we get evicted? When we're turning tricks just to fucking get in a homeless shelter? We--Clark. Listen to me. I talked to one of Edge's guys--"

"You what?" It's like a nightmare. Not one he's ever had, because--well, it's Marian. And she wouldn't. Never. Never on purpose. But on accident, maybe--. 

"Billy. He works the south end for Edge. Security, mostly. Some other stuff. He--Edge is fair, he pays good, he likes his people loyal. You'd be--God, you'd be everything he'd need."

It's like trying to breathe through solid dirt. "What did you tell him?"

Marian blinks, like she has no idea what he's talking about. "That you were special. That Edge could use someone like you. That--"

He has no idea how it happens, but he's got her hand jerked off his arm, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she's staring at him with wide-eyed shock. "About me. About what--about what I can do." It feels like the air in the room is running out. He's never felt anything quite like this. "What, Mari?"

"Clark!" she starts to struggle, fingers prying at his. "Stop it! You're hurting me!"

"Mari, did you--" He can feel it, building behind his eyes, and Marian's right in his line of sight. Jerking his head around, he closes his eyes just a second too late.

Marian's scream is almost drowned out by the pain, though--it, the thing in him, wanted *out*, to burn and break and destroy, not be caught behind his eyelids, dammed up, the pressure a pillow around his head wrapped in solid steel. Oh God, he has to open his eyes, has to, it burns, it hurts, it *hurts*....

"Let me go!"

Instantly, Clark releases her, covering his face with both hands. He can hear Marian moving around the room, cursing, then the hiss of water poured on something hot. Crackling noises that die away too slow. 

After a long time, Clark feels the pain start to lessen, pulling back. Reluctant, unhappy it has no target, but it's going, and Clark finally breathes again when it slips back into his head. When he opens his eyes, the world is a little twisted, but nothing breaks into flame.

Marian is crouching by the remains of the television, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes. Even from here, he can see the marks of his fingers in her arm.

Oh God.

"Mari--" Standing up, he almost trips over the coffee table, winding up knocking canned tuna and frozen peas onto the floor. When he looks up, she's moving backward, inch by inch, like she's scared to move too fast. "Marian, no. I'm sorry. I didn't want--I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear. I just--it's. It's this thing. This new thing."

"You set things on fire when you're mad?" She sounds--frighteningly blank. Curling her arms around her updrawn knees, she watches him, flinching when he starts to move toward her again. Oh God, he *hurt* her, and he didn't even mean to. "Just--just stay over there."

"I'd never hurt you." His voice sounds like a broken record, old from too many repeats. It's almost a joke, isn't it? He did hurt her.

"What the hell do you call this?" She motions to her bruised arm, the remains of the television still smoldering. "You--what the fuck is *wrong* with you? What are you?"

I don't fucking *know* he almost yells, but he bites his lip to keep the words from spilling out. "I--I told you. I--I don't know."

"Or you won't tell me. Still don't trust me?" Standing up, she winces again, arm cradled to her chest. More than anything, Clark wants the last few minutes back. He *hurt* her. He almost killed her. He-- 

"I'm so sorry, Marian. I don't--it just hits me and it--"

"I don't want to hear it. Turning away, she makes her slow way to her room. "Leave me alone, Clark. I'm not--I need some time alone. Just. Look. Think about Edge, okay?" She closes the door between them, and from inside, Clark's almost sure he can hear her crying.

The shaking starts somewhere deep inside, and Clark closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself as his body shivers. He *hurt* her. Marian. Who he was supposed to protect and take care of, his friend, his only real friend. God. *Dammit*. He's never hurt someone by accident like this--except that guy, Jeremy, and he'd--that had been--. And not Marian. No, especially not Marian. 

He feels like he's going to throw up.

* * *

"I hate this town."

It's like being trapped in some idyllic television show from the sixties, complete with cheerful farmers, amber waves of grain, and a herd of cows within shooting distance of the manor. Which is huge and hot or cold by turns, and so chock full of antiques that Lex wants, more than anything, to burn the thing down for fun. Even if it is stone. Surely something could be used. Anything.

Patiently, Lex takes out his cell phone, stares at the number for Tyler for a few minutes. Reports on Clark aren't the same as standing witness. And it's getting a little disturbing, all things considered--he'd toyed with the idea that once away, Clark might be a little less interesting.

This town, though--with only a meteor shower and a recent mass murder to recommend it--didn't do a damn thing but remind him of how much he'd give to be in Metropolis. With Clark. Taking him to bed, taking him out, taking him in the bathroom, whatever and wherever and whenever, just. Clark. Now.

And three calls a day is just excessive. Period. 

The plant manager, Gabe Sullivan, was okay so far, with less in the prejudice against his surname thing, but perennially worried, hair grayer than his age would suggest. His daughter, Lex's assistant had finally explained. Burn ward for over a year now. Still in rehabilitation. Not quite--all there anymore. Lex had bit his lip and nodded, saying all the right words, or the closest approximation he could make, and got away.

So. Dad sent him to a small, apparently fucking *cursed* little town. 

"Mr. Luthor? Your mail." His assistant is, at least, not the most annoying person ever. And so far, hasn't tried to hit on him once. He hopes it's because of her wedding ring and not just that she's waiting for an opportune moment. "Can I get anything else for you?"

Lex shakes his head, taking the envelopes. "Not now. Gabe should be stopping in this afternoon, and I'll want no interruptions during my conference with him."

"Sure thing, Mr. Luthor." When she's gone, Lex pulls out his phone again, staring at the face, where the number is still waiting for him to hit talk. Yes, he could call again. He pays Tyler too well for Tyler to want to form any kind of opinion on his boss other than enthusiasm.

There are six messages from his dad waiting, and Lex wonders idly if he can make it to eight before the asshole comes out here to personally deliver his advice at great and tedious length.

And really, that's exactly what he needs. An up close and personal with Daddy. Shit.

Picking up the phone, Lex punches in the number, rubbing his forehead at the incipient headache already forming. It's almost pavlovian. "Hey, Dad."

From the other end, Lex hears soft, even breathing. "Son. How kind of you to call so quickly."

Lex grits his teeth. "I'm working. As agreed. Here I thought you'd be pleased with my industry. What's the problem? Ran out of underlings to make miserable?"

From the other end of the line, Lex hears the most perfect put-upon sigh of a father ever performed. Oscar worthy. Lex thinks of all the things he could be doing now that would be far more interesting--jumping from the turrets of the castle, or running down small rodents on the road. A full proctological exam. Yes. Pleasant things. Comparatively speaking. "Lex--"

"Let's cut the father-son crap. What do you want?"

"I have some information I want you to follow up on when you come home this weekend."

And how the hell did Dad know--

"Dad--"

"Don't bother denying it. It's been longer than I expected before you'd break. Since you're going to be in the city anyway, I thought you might take some time from your busy schedule and use your time in the slums to some purpose. I received an--interesting report from an old business partner."

"Oh?" Lex leans back in his chair.

"Apparently, he's been informed there's an unusually gifted young man who might be of use to him."

"I'm pimping for your friends now?" Dad has *got* to be kidding.

"Of course you'd jump to that conclusion. No. He's been--somewhat reliably informed the young man has some unusual physical abilities. Very fast and very strong, or so he's been told. Possibly, the young prodigy is responsible for several halted muggings in Suicide Alley. Frankly, I'd take it with a grain of salt, but after some discussion with law enforcement--"

"Your pet Phelan?"

"Son." Lex sighs. Well, great. Just fucking great. "There has been a mysterious drop in crime in the area over the last few months. Apparently, the local prostitutes can work easier each night knowing they have a guardian angel." Dad can do irony very well with just his voice. Lex sighs loudly. "Since you'll doubtless be slumming anyway, maybe you'd take this opportunity to research?"

"I'll just ask the next hooker I talk to, Dad. That'll work."

"Or ask your pretty friend--Stella, isn't it?"

Lex closes his eyes.

"It was mentioned she doesn't work the streets as much as usual. I have to admit, for street trash, she's lovely. And sadly simple. Do you usually like them so incredibly stupid?"

"I don't pay her for her brains, Dad. Did you give her a try?" 

"I prefer my companions to at least have the semblance of civility and conversation, Lex. Can I hope you'll at least consider it?"

"I'll ask, though I think your business associate is starting to slip. Can I go now?"

"As you wish, son." 

Turning off the phone, Lex considers the phone for a second, then puts it down, picking up his cell. Simple. That's new and-- "Stella."

Stella sounds winded, like she was running for the phone.. "*Now* you call me back." He can hear her moving around. Probably getting dressed. Checking the clock--yes, it's her version of morning. He wishes he still lived on a nocturnal clock like this. "Did you get the first five messages? Some old guy came by asking me questions--"

"How was dear old Dad?"

She lets her a breath out in an explosive sound. "What the *hell*? A warning would have been nice here."

Yeah, well, who knew Dad would get interested in his mistress? "I was busy. I won't be next time. When did he come by and what did he want?"

"Last night. Information." He can hear her shifting, the click of a lighter. "Some guy he thinks is special. Wants to know if I know anything about whoever is do-gooding down here." Her voice trickles off as she takes a drag. "Like I pay that much attention."

"Did he sleep with you?"

"I don't like old. Besides, I played dumb." She pauses. "Lex, I'm not stupid. I like my life now, and I like what I get for what I do for you. I'm not fucking that up."

"That'll take some convincing."

She snorts. "You want my report on Clark?"

Lex grins and wonders if he's that easy to read. "Did he seem to know anything about Clark?"

"Nope. I probed a little, but he was more interested in whoever the hell it is he heard about. And to see if you left anything incriminating around here. He checked my bedroom and the living room pretty thoroughly. I'm pretty sure he's having me watched--there's some people around the street who don't belong."

"Don't worry about it. He's just fishing."

She pauses. "If he wants--" She stops short. There's no good way, Lex supposes, to ask if you should sleep with your employer's father for the greater good.

"I'm not going to encourage you to seduce my father." But. Lex shivers. "But I'm not going to fire you if you find the opportunity useful, either."

"I only do it for money, sweetie."

"I'll pay you for your time."

He can almost see her grin. "Anyway. Clark's the only one working right now. Marian's pretty quiet. Last week, went around to see some old friends, but nothing weird. He's pretty much either working or sleeping, not much else. He looks tired."

He probably is. Lex closes his eyes, imagining Clark as he saw him the morning he dropped him off. So pretty. God. It's been too long. "If he's the only one working, probably so. I'm coming down this weekend. Do you need anything?"

"A car would be nice."

Lex remembers now why he likes her. "What can you give me for it?'

Her voice drops instantly. She gives good phone. "A lot of things. Especially information you didn't ask for."

Good phone *and* good information. "I'm listening."

"Some of your set are slumming, but they're staying very sober for boys who are playing. And they're new. Really new. Friends of that kid you fucked over, I think."

Now that's new and disturbing. "And?"

"They're really interested in who the girl in the pictures is that got plastered all over Metropolis. Not to mention the boy."

Shit. "And?"

"Who took the pictures. They're pretty sure it's you, in case you're curious."

Like that isn't obvious. "You dyed your hair?"

"Yeah. I'm not worried. I fucked one of them and he never caught on."

"Name?"

"Jessie something. Stewart? Lousy fuck."

Lex sighs. It's not a surprise. It's just--so fucking inconvenient.

"Thought you might want to know." Stella sounds a little breathless now. Deciding what car she wants, probably. "I called in some favors around town to watch for them and tell me if they start sniffing around too much. They're really not making themselves popular. And they don't pay for shit."

He really, really likes her. "What kind of car?"

From the other end comes a little giggle. "Maserati. Red."

"I'll bring it myself. You have any plans Thursday night?"

Her voice drops again, and Lex shifts in his chair, wishing he was at home and could indulge himself. So not a good time for this. On the other hand, Thursday is tomorrow. "Not anymore."

"Be home." Still smiling, he clicks the phone off, considering. So much to do, so little time. Authorize Tyler to hire a couple more people to do some watching, of both Clark and Stella. Buy a car. Let Gabe know he'll be in charge of the plant on Friday. And call Clark. It's been a month, and that's way too damn long.

Lex glances around his office, wondering if the rest of this six months is going to be as painfully slow as the first. It's nice not to be bored, though.

* * *

Clark's wrapped up in music. Just watching is pretty damn nice. Long body in old, faded jeans and a tight shirt that couldn't quite manage to cover his stomach. Clark's a much better dancer with someone else than he is alone.

Though Lex would prefer it was him and not someone else. Finishing his drink, he crosses the room, letting the alcohol slip through him, softening the edges of everything.

And it makes it terribly logical to grab the back of the shirt of whoever's with Clark and pull him out of the way. "He's taken."

A sputtered noise erupts, but Lex turns back to Clark, who opens his eyes on a grin. No one smiles like Clark. "Lex?"

"You owe me some weekends."

Clark's arms loop around his shoulders, pulling them into a full-body grind. Oh yeah. He's missed this. "I thought you were occupied with Stella and her friend."

He won't even ask how Clark knows that. "That was just an appetizer. I've been in the boondocks. They don't even have porn." Beneath the shirt, Clark's skin is hot and slick with sweat. Lex draws slow fingers down his back, watching the green eyes glaze, pink tongue caught between his teeth. Pretty, pretty, pretty....

"You've suffered." The soft lips brush his, and Lex leans into it, sliding his other hand in thick dark hair, closing his eyes. Clark learned this from him, that little flicker of tongue, the way he nips, and it's hot, even hotter than watching him dance. Clark pulls back with a wet sound that goes straight to his cock. "I--missed you."

He does look tired, Lex thinks, studying him as one jeans-clad leg slides between his. Something in his attitude, in the tension beneath his skin, the shadows under his eyes. Working enough to take care of both himself and his friend. But right now, it's so hard to think of anything but that smooth skin, and that mouth, nipping just below his jaw.

And--missed him. "Did you?"

Clark ducks his head. "I'm used to having you around, you know. It's weird not to see you."

Lex nods, leaning into Clark, letting the music soak through him. It's sucked. He must have forgotten more about Clark than he realized, because if he'd remembered how good he felt, there's no way he could have stayed away so long. Or at all. Importing him to Smallville seems like a better idea by the second. For an extended stay. "Believe it or not, I missed you, too."

Clark snickers. "From what Stella tells me, you sure missed some things about the city."

Jesus. "Do you two always gossip about your clients?"

Clark's smile is sunny. "Just the ones we like. It bother you?"

He's--not sure. Maybe? 

"It's not like I'm going to get jealous or something." Another kiss, fast and bright. "Though maybe I'd get a little weirded out if it was another guy. A blow to my professional standing, you know."

"Uh huh."

"Reputation is everything down here," Clark says very seriously, lips moving against Lex's mouth. "You want this weekend?"

"Yes." Lex isn't sure he's even breathing anymore. Moving against that strong thigh, Clark's pretty, pretty mouth so close, and silky hair, so good, how could he have left this? "Definitely yes."

He can feel Clark's grin against his mouth before the next melting kiss. Clark's so good at this. Sliding his hand into the top of his jeans, Lex strokes the sweaty small of his back. Such wonderful skin. So soft. So--God. Damn. He grinds down on the offered thigh, feeling his breathing speed up. "Clark."

"Like that?" It's whispered into his ear, soft and lazy, and somehow, Clark's hand's between them, knuckles sliding down the front of his pants with gentle brutality. "Been thinking of me?"

"Every. Damned. Day." And who the hell needs porn with these kind of memories? Lex doesn't.

"What?" Lex wonders when exhibitionism became this much of a kink. Clark's unbuttoned the top of his jeans. This can't go anywhere--oh God--good. So good. So very, very good. "Lex?"

"Hmm?" He won't need much, not with that husky voice right by his ear. Is Clark like this with everyone, or just with him? 

"Tell me what you were thinking about out there in the boondocks."

Jesus, Clark wants him to *talk*? "You--you've got to be kidding." He's not sure he's capable of another full sentence now. Clark's throat tastes like sweat, but not like anyone else. Maybe there haven't been any other tricks tonight. Good. Very, very good. 

"Me in your bed? Or me on my knees?" Clark's hand is down his pants. Lex loses the ability to breathe at the first careful stroke of those fingers. Clark's hand is *down his pants* in the middle of a club--a seedy club, which has probably seen much more explicit, but still. And he doesn't even care. "What, Lex?"

He can't even begin to work a sentence. The entire world is Clark's mouth against his ear, Clark's back beneath his hands, and Clark rubbing his cock in slow circles. So. Fucking. Hot.

"What did you think about, Lex?"

"Corn," he hears himself say. What? "For--for fucking *miles*, nothing but corn. And I thought--Jesus. I thought about fucking you in a field of it. And I--God. Clark."

"And?" The rhythm seems to falter, but Clark's husky voice is still doing amazing things, and the even teeth close on his ear. Oh God.

"I--I'd think about it and buy corn. Can't stop eating it now. Clark, we can't here--"

"Why not? Everyone knows who we are." Clark's tongue slides into his ear, wet and hot. "And what we're doing. What I'm doing to you."

Yes, they do. If they don't, they're idiots.

"I don't--" Another tiny flicker of fingers over the head of his cock, and Lex loses the ability to breathe. "I don't want to come in my pants, Clark." Though he's not sure he actually cares now. He pushes into the hand, into Clark's mouth, and it's so good and he's been gone too long and there is no way--

"Come with me."

He'd follow Clark off a cliff right now. Long fingers slide through his, pulling him, and Lex follows blindly, aware that his pants are unbuttoned and unable to really give much of a shit.

A second, a closed door--bathroom?--and then Clark pushes him back into the wall and drops to his knees.

"Oh *God*." And yes. And thank you. Oh yes. Oh fucking yes.

Clark's beautiful, sweet mouth, stretched around his cock. Just looking sends sparks down his spine, and Lex twists his fingers in the dark hair. There's no way he can stop himself. There's no way he can even figure out how.

Coming, like falling off a building or running a car off a cliff. Every muscle stretched too tight and too far. Clark. God, Clark.

A few blinding seconds pass, then Clark slides his mouth away, staring up at Lex with glassy eyes. A pink tongue slips out, licking away a smear of come by his mouth. This kid--Lex licks his lips, trying to catch his breath. "You're amazing."

Clark grins, a little lopsided, then stands up. Lex tries to untangle his hands from the dark hair, but Clark is kissing him--God, really kissing him, strong tongue and tasting like salt and Lex. So fucking sexy. He could get hard from this again, way too fast. 

When Clark draws back, he looks breathless. "Ready to get out of here?"

Get Clark alone. In bed. Yes. "Absolutely."

* * *

They end up in a diner, with Clark attacking a double cheeseburger and fries like it's his first meal in weeks. Lex hides a frown behind a glass of water. Tyler hadn't said Clark wasn't eating, but it's not like he can get the man inside Clark's apartment to watch him eat.

Yet, anyway.

"So how is everything?" he asks when Clark comes up for air. The ketchup stained grin makes him smile back, and also reminds him how young Clark is. God. He doesn't need to think about that right now.

"Okay." Clark studies his remaining fries like a battle plan. Yes, hungry boy. "Busy."

"And Marian?"

It's a flinch. It's concealed under a reach for a fry, but it's definitely a flinch. "Okay. Tired a lot. Toby says that's normal for--recovery."

"Ahh." So, bad topic. He'll have to ask Tyler to watch Marian more carefully. "You seem--a little out of it." 

Clark shrugs, going for more fries. "I'm just--it's been a busy few weeks. And Marian's been sick, so, you know."

Yes, a single income family after having two incomes can't be easy. Lex takes another quick drink and pushes his fries across the table. "Here, eat these. There's no way I can finish them."

Clark shows no hesitation. Abandoning the ruin of his plate, he focuses on Lex's. This kid needs to be fed more. Lots more. "So. Did you have plans this weekend?"

Clark snorts. "Not a lot. Sitting around, working, reading a little, I guess."

"Sworn off TV?"

Another flinch, and Clark drops his fry. Okay, what the hell? "Clark?"

Clark looks up. "Ah. No. I just. Broke the other one. Need to check into getting another one." 

And that's a reason to look that guilty? Lex picks up the check and takes out his wallet, giving Clark time to finish his demolition of dinner uninterrupted. Mentally, he tries to remember what he has at the penthouse that Clark can consume easily. Maybe just leave it out randomly and let Clark attack at will.

When the last fry has been chased down and lost it's life, Clark finishes off his soda, leaning back with a little satisfied smile. It's so cute. Lex wishes it was less in the way of cute. *Sixteen*. 

"Are you enjoying work?" Clark asks abruptly as the waitress walks up. Lex hands her the money before turning his attention to Clark. "I mean, you were--kinda not happy."

"'Kind of not happy' is running out of gas in the middle of Metropolis, comparatively speaking. It's--" Lex tilts his head, watching Clark's slow smile. "What?"

"You've been busy, though."

"The epic mismanagement that's gone on until now has kept me busy. It does not stop it from being a nightmare." A long, boring nightmare. In monochrome, even. Lex wonders if fleeing the country with only his trust fund is really that bad an idea. Surely he can find a way to tempt Clark to come with him. "And--" He hesitates, but Clark's listening attentively . Lex finds himself, strangely enough, believing Clark might actually be interested. "My father isn't exactly popular there." To say the least.

Clark nods slowly. "So they take it out on you?"

The operative word is 'shun'. Other than Gabe and Lex's assistant, that is. "They don't trust me."

"Give them time." 

Clark looks so serious when he says it, too. Lex tries to read the intent behind it, but Clark is for shit in hiding things, really, so it might be just good will. A novel concept. "Anyway. Have a question for you. Well, my dad does, anyway, and apparently, I'm the new errand boy."

Clark nods, sipping at the melted water in his glass. "Sure. What?"

"Heard anything about whoever it is that's stopping all those muggings downtown?"

Lex watches in mild bemusement as Clark starts to cough, eyes widening. Pushing the glass away, he grabs for a napkin, face reddening. Fascinating. Also, sadly, hot, but Clark is pretty much the definition of hot. Lex finds himself wondering again how far down that blush goes. 

"What?" Clark finally chokes out. "Uh, muggings?"

"Some guy that stops them or something. It's--weird." And pointless. Only Dad would ask him to do something this stupid. "Never mind. Another idiotic urban rumor." Come to think, he should have asked Stella more about it, but there'd been so many more interesting things to do. As the waitress returns with their change, Lex gets up. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Clark nods absently, wiping at his mouth. Dropping the change on the table, Lex gives the waitress a smile--it never hurts to be charming, no matter who it is---and follows Clark out.

* * *

Clark likes the penthouse.

It's not the luxury, though he'll admit a certain kind of happiness comes from sinking into warm, soft leather in front of a huge television under a thick, comfortable blanket. It's not even the endless supply of food Lex offers, now reduced to scraps on the coffee table, though there's a lot to be said for good food. It's not even the fact that this is an entire weekend he doesn't have to worry about Marian or tricking or how to pay the bills, but he'll admit that it helps. 

He just likes Lex, who fits here best, and Clark likes to be where Lex fits. It's--safe. It's comfortable and peaceful and there's six remote controls and fluffy pillows and no noise from any other apartment, and Lex, curled up at one end of the couch, absently stroking his hair while deeply engrossed in something Japanese that's apparently fascinating and subtitled and involves a lot of weapons. 

Lex is warm and kind and his fingers sometimes slip down Clark's cheek, and he likes that, too. Makes it easy to watch with half-closed eyes and no idea what's going on, and just enjoy it. Enjoy Lex.

"You're exhausted, aren't you?" Lex's voice seems to come out of nowhere. Forcing his eyes open, Clark rolls onto his back so he can see Lex above him, a small smile curving his mouth. God, Clark likes that smile.

"Sorry. I can--" He almost thinks about getting up. Yes, he could really get used to this too easy.

"Don't you dare move. I don't mind." The hand on his head tightens, almost pulling his hair, and Clark grins. "You're just doing too much."

Clark sighs a little. "I'm fine. It's just been a rough few weeks. It'll get better." Marian seems better. Well, did until he hurt her. Now she won't even look at him. Closing his eyes, Clark turns his head into Lex's stomach, breathing in the smell of detergent and the smell of him. It's nice. Relaxing, even.

"Mmm." The hand starts stroking again, and just maybe, Clark has found his definition of bliss. This here. Like this. "I could--"

"No." He doesn't even bother opening his eyes.

"I could indenture you for a weekend every month for the rest of your life if you want." Lex sounds amused, but--something else, too. Hurt? Maybe. Clark forces his eyes open again. Lex's face doesn't show anything, but that doesn't mean much. Lex can do that sometimes.

"I--" Why's he objecting? It's not like Stella isn't doing great from whatever offer he made her. Her place is nice, and in a part of town without much of a crime rate and, well, she doesn't act like Lex asks her to do unspeakable things or anything. At least, nothing unspeakable that she doesn't do already. She seems pretty happy with the world, really, and always has a lot of ho-hos for him to eat when he comes by. Thank God. He doesn't have much of a budget for random junk food anymore. "It's weird."

"That I want to buy you things?" Lex's voice is even, but the ripple underneath is still hurt.

"It's not you. It's just." Clark takes a deep breath. "I sort of like you, you know?"

"This is comforting."

"I don't want to use you." Yes, that makes sense. Clark closes his eyes, wondering if a quick blowjob would distract Lex so this conversation is completely forgotten. Probably not. Lex thinks way too much. "I mean, I like you and I don't want to take advantage."

When he looks at Lex, he seems--thoughtful. "Okay."

The stroking continues. Clark lets his eyes close, then sighs softly. "Did--did I hurt your feelings?"

Even to himself, it sounds hopelessly childish. Wow, go Clark. Way to be an adult there. 

"Maybe." The stroking slows. "Believe it or not, Clark, I sometimes just like to do things because I can. Not because I want something."

"I--know." And he does. "And I'm appreciative. I am. I just--" Clark bites down before he says something really silly. "Anyway, I'm okay right now. Toby's great with Marian."

"I should hope so." A gentle finger traces Clark's jaw. Clark leans into it, wondering if this is why cats always look so self-satisfied when they're getting petted. He can totally understand. "Just rest. I'll wake you up for bed."

Clark lets his eyes fall closed. He *is* tired. Work and the saving thing and everything else. And wow, so someone's been talking about that? Damn. And it had to be Lex's dad--or someone who told Lex's dad, which is just too convoluted for words to describe. It's not like he isn't careful--from what he can tell, no one's gotten a good look or even a really bad one at him yet. Mysterious urban rumors are okay. He's careful. And most of the guys he stops are very, very stupid, and the victims a little too shocked to be watching very carefully.

He barely wake up when Lex nudges him, letting himself be pulled unresisting to the bedroom, be stripped down to bare skin and appreciative hands that slide him under soft sheets and warm blankets. Lex is warm behind him, a gentle hand on his stomach, smoothing slow circles into his skin, and Clark smiles, wondering if he should tell Lex that in moments like this, the idea of being kept doesn't seem that bad at all.

He's asleep before he can finish the thought.

* * *

It's like a vacation, and Clark worries about that a little.

There's something addictive about Lex and the penthouse. Not just the food. Really not just the food.

Clark stretches on the couch, grinning to himself at the way Lex's eyes fix and glaze from the desk, almost forgetting the laptop until it beeps at him, in frustration, Clark thinks, relaxing again. Lex has seen everything, with eyes and fingers and the tip of that soft little tongue, but it's like it's always new to him. Clark isn't sure that isn't as addictive as anything else. He's never had so much attention focused on him like this, like there's nothing else in the world. 

Whatever he's doing at that plant, Clark thinks, it's changed him, though Clark can't quite put his finger on the difference. The lazy sprawl against the armchair is the same--Lex made the comment that the next desk he sees he'll burn and dance on the ashes--but the sharp eyes are interested. He likes what he does, Clark thinks. He may even be good at it. Clark wonders if Lex has figured either of those things out for himself.

It's a tiny, easily submergible ache. Men who grow up to become successful businessmen don't patronize the streets for easy sex or pseudofriends.

Pushing the laptop aside, Lex flickers his fingers over the keys with a yawn, shutting down. "Done. God, I hate paperwork."

"You sure seemed interested."

Lex gives him a sharp smile from the other side of the coffee table. "The day that spreadsheets become my life passion is the day I take a walk off the top of the building. Bored?"

Clark shrugs. He is, but it's interesting to watch Lex work, enjoy the novelty of laying on a couch with nothing to do and nothing to worry about. He watches Lex stand up, stretching like a cat, before crossing to the couch, straddling him with an easy swing of one long leg. Lex has his own kind of fascination for Clark. He doesn't move like anyone Clark's ever met. Settling on top, Lex's hands rest lightly on his chest, warm through the thin t-shirt. "How can I entertain you?"

Clark grins. "Isn't it more, how can I entertain *you*?"

"Semantics." The hands are distracting, slipping under the hem of his shirt, tracing his stomach with teasing touches, the occasional scrape of sharp nails. "I'm thinking of--"

"Lex."

Lex freezes. Clark frowns at the look on Lex's face before one hand slides up and fingers cover his mouth lightly.

"Dad. A pleasure." Swiveling, the Lex turns enough to rest his arms on the back of the couch, head perched on top. Clark can't see his expression, but he can feel the tension, like knots beneath Lex's skin. 

So this is Lionel Luthor, who freaked out Stella and makes Lex so--tense. Some other word, that Clark thinks he should know. Carefully keeping his hands from sight of the top of the couch, he cups Lex's hips, rubbing his fingers gently into corded muscle. God knows what Lex's father would think of finding Lex with a teenage prostitute.

"Any reason you're still in the city?" From the sounds, Lionel's not moving.

"Trying very desperately to remind myself why on earth I let myself be exiled into that hellhole you sent me to." Lex's voice is hard, but the muscles beneath Clark's hands are pliant for his touch.

"Your lovely Stella seems to be enjoying herself in your absence."

Clark almost grins as Lex rolls his eyes. "I don't pay her for fidelity, Dad. And you're here because--"

"I wanted to see if you'd made any progress in the investigation. But you seem to be otherwise occupied at the moment."

Clark stiffens at the sound of shoes coming their way. Lex follows his father's progression like a man watching a snake, one hand falling to Clark's chest. A single, flickering look down is his only warning before Lionel Luthor is looking straight at him from the chair across the coffee table.

Really amused, too. Clark understands instantly why Lex is so tense. He's feeling the same way.

"Yes, you are." Lex sighs dramatically, easing to his feet, and Clark forces himself to move, pulling himself into a seated position against the armrest. Lex sits back down beside him, pulling one of Clark's legs into his lap, watching his father. "And if you left, this would not be a problem."

Lionel's looks are like Lex's, but not. The heat is there, but it feels like when he's tricking, the way men and women look at him. Like Lex, he realizes, never does. He feels the blush start in his cheeks and flare outward, completely outside his control. And God, blushing *now*.

"Pretty, Lex. Where'd you find him? The local high school?"

"Local playground," Lex says, fingering Clark's jeans with a casualness even Clark can see is forced. "What do you want?"

"I asked you to look into something for me." Lionel pauses, eyes fixing on Lex's hands. "If you'd send your little--friend away--"

"I like him where he is." A hand closes on Clark's knee to punctuate it as a silent command. That's good. Clark's not sure his knees will hold him up right now. "And no, I don't have anything for you, as I told your new secretary when I called yesterday. What do you do to them, by the way? This is the fifth one this year."

Lionel frowns between them. "I thought Smallville would be an educational experience for you. But judging from today, I'm beginning to wonder if there's anything that will avert you from the course of mediocrity you seem determined to pursue."

It takes a second to penetrate--a second where Clark is sure that he completely misheard the word, then another where he searches his memory for Lex referring to where he'd gone. Shithole. Crap factor. Boondocks. And in Smallville, Clark thinks, stomach sinking, there's a plant, where Chloe's dad works. 

Oh *God*. Lex is in *Smallville*.

".and I could do without it." The hand on Clark's leg is gripping so hard that a normal person might be wincing, but Clark can't bring himself to care. Lex is in Smallville. Where everything is, where everything he doesn't think about--where it all--

He hears his own breath too loud and too fast, feels Lex's eyes flicker to him, then Lex pushes his leg off and stand up.

"Dad, great chat, but I have plans, so if you'd leave" He trails off, eyes never leaving his father.

"I'd advocate discretion, Lex, considering small town attitudes toward--behavior such as this." Somehow, Lionel makes it sound dirty. Sex. Not prostitution, but *sex* itself.

"I really don't care." Lex is walking around the couch, and fingers trail his shoulder, so gently that Clark wonders what he must look like. The sharp blue gaze is worried before flickering back to Lionel. "I'm returning tomorrow night, and I have a lot of catching up to do. So please, show yourself out." Lex waits, standing at the arm of the couch, and Clark keeps his eyes fixed on the far wall. His heart is slamming so hard into his chest that he wonders if he'll somehow manage to hyperventilate himself, and wouldn't that be new and freaky to do? 

Over the sound of rushing blood, Clark hears Lionel's voice, sharp and mocking, then Lex and Lionel are both gone, doubtless Lex shuffling him out of the living room. Thank God. Except--except Lex will come *back*, and he'll have questions, and Clark has no idea what he's going to say.

An eternity later, Lex is back, straddling his lap with an annoyed look that melts into concern. "Don't worry about it. He's--like that."

Like that? Clark tries to pull it together, but warm hands settle on his cheeks, Lex's eyes peering into his. "You okay?"

"Yeah." No, not really, but Clark knows how to fake it. He's good at that. Lex thinks his dad had done that, and that's--really good, actually. "Stella said what he was like, but." And in retrospect, Clark gets what she'd said about how he looked at people. Not just people like Clark, but people like Lex, his own son. That look that strips you naked and touches you all over, in all the ways you don't want. 

Lex sighs. "He's--I don't know what he is, and I don't care anymore." Lex's hands are gentle now, fingering his hair. "He likes to fuck up my life." 

"Stella said she couldn't tell if he wanted to fuck her or kill her just for fun." Stella had said a lot of things, and to think he'd thought she'd been exaggerating. Lex grins down at him, but there's an edge in his smile that Clark doesn't like to see. 

"He has a thing for my lovers." It's stated baldly, like it's nothing at all, but Clark hears something under it, too. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Fine, Clark almost says, but he's not. Lex is in *Smallville*, and God, when Lex had mentioned the boondocks, why the hell hadn't Clark questioned him about it? Damn. And fuck. And double fuck at that. "But. I might feel better if you kissed me."

Lex smiles at him, slow and warm. "Anything you want, Clark."

It's a thing, Clark thinks hazily, letting himself be spread over the couch, quick fingers sliding his shirt up and pulling it off him. Lex's mouth. The way Lex kisses. It's all smooth and rich and sweet, precise, like someone tasting an expensive dessert. Clark's kissed more people than he can count, but none of them are like Lex, and he's never just enjoyed it, this slow necking, like they're both teenagers in a small town. Wet and slippery, soft and warm, all-encompassing, like this is the only thing on earth worth doing right now. Lex's hand is warm on his chest, his stomach, sliding slowly over his skin like he's being mapped. Clark keeps his eyes closed at the pressure against his neck, sensitive skin goosebumping at the way Lex draws with his tongue. Clark arches his back, letting Lex have all the access he wants.

"You taste good," Lex murmurs against his skin, stopping for an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of shoulder and neck that makes Clark shiver. "Smell good, too."

Clark hears himself chuckle, running his hands up Lex's back beneath his shirt, wondering if he can coax Lex to take it off. "I smell like you."

Lex lifts his head to look at Clark. The swollen red lips stretch in a slow grin, so hot that Clark shifts, almost tingling. "I like it."

Sitting up, Lex pulls the rucked shirt over his head, and oh, skin. That wonderful, silky, flawless skin, that Clark can touch all he wants, because Lex likes that. Likes the skate of Clark's fingertips and the scratch of his nails and Clark really *can't* get enough of it. No one he's touched has ever felt this good. When Lex leans down to kiss him again, one hand braced on the armrest behind Clark, he reaches for it, tracing his hands over Lex's back, taking in the muscle beneath the thin coat of flesh, the softness, the smoothness he could lose himself in.

The slow, insistent rub of Lex's hips against him just make it better, setting off a low burn that makes Clark shiver more. Sex is work, but this isn't anything like a trick in an alley, almost not even sex. Which is ridiculous if he thinks about it, so he doesn't, just enjoys Lex like Lex enjoys him.

And Lex likes every touch, never pushing Clark's hands away, even from his head, which Clark knows instinctively is off-limits to everyone except, maybe, him. That small knot on the back that makes Lex shiver when Clark draws his thumbnail gently across, not enough to hurt, just to make Lex *do* that. Lex's hips push into his, grinding down, and Clark wonders if Lex wants more, but when he reaches down, touching hardness under soft wool, a hand catches his, trapping it against the arm of the couch.

"Not yet." Clark nods, but Lex holds his hand there, half sitting up to look at him from glazed blue eyes. A single finger traces his chest from collarbone to navel, circling to rub a thumb over the trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans. The feeling sends a shiver up Clark's spine that he can't control, doesn't even want to. Then he reaches for Clark's other hand, raising it to rest on the armrest beside the first. "Keep your hands there."

Dry mouthed, Clark nods, and satisfied, Lex sits back, resting his weight on Clark's hips. Pressure and warmth and that look that Lex gives him, heavy and rich, face flushed, licking his lips as he watches Clark. It's impossible to look away, even when both hands rest lightly on his chest, sliding slowly down, brushing his nipples with a flickering touch that sends another shiver down Clark's spine. "Like that?"

Clark nods, catching his breath when the fingers return, one brushing the nipple again, harder, and Clark almost arches into the feeling. It's--so different. Lex does this like he's creating art, dedicated and focused, and it's *good*.

Lex kisses him again, wet mouth, aggressive tongue, laying siege on unclaimed territory, fast and blinding. Clark can't keep up, sucks when Lex is still enough for him to try, pulling out a soft groan from the man above him that's making him feel like this. Marian had said it didn't have to be terrible, or boring, or ridiculous, and he hadn't believed her, but wow. This is--this is--

Teeth pulling on his lip, mouth sliding down, sucking on his skin, tickling his ear with a slow, wet insinuation that's almost like fucking, and so, so hot. Closing over his nipple, and Clark doesn't expect that at all, hears himself stutter a breath, moving into it without thinking. Lex's hips rock in tiny circles, pressure against his cock, and Clark's dizzily aware he's getting hard, denim rubbing irritatingly against suddenly sensitive skin. If he's not careful, he'll punch his fingers straight through the leather.

"Lex." He tries to form more words, but his breath catches at the teeth on his nipple, Lex's fingers twisting the other, and he--God, he *squirms*, like a kid in class, moving with the pressure of Lex's hips.

"All that time out there, I thought about you," Lex whispers, looking up into his eyes. Licking his lips again, he rides Clark's body in slow, practiced rolls of his hips. Lex is as good at sex as Clark is--better, maybe. "About you here, on my couch, in my bed. Pretty and rumpled, like someone's been fucking you. Playing with you."

Clark smiles, catching his breath at the slow circle of Lex's hips. "Wonder--who."

Lex blows softly across the wet skin of his chest, and Clark shivers again. It feels *good*. So good, like this is exactly what he's supposed to be doing, like this is something to be enjoyed, wallow in, this feeling, these touches.

"I like you like this." Lex arches like a cat, tongue licking a stripe from belly to collarbone, blowing cool air as his skin dries. "I'd keep you, you know. Lock you up in here, just for me to see and touch."

It should be a little scary, because Clark almost thinks Lex means it.

"Chain you up in my bed." Another lick, and Clark forces himself to breathe through the feeling. It shouldn't be this hot to hear Lex say things like that. Hands on his jeans unfasten the button, pulling them open, and Lex's knuckles brush his cock, teasingly light. "I'd never let anyone else touch you, look at you. All of this, just for me."

I'd let you, Clark almost says, dizzy with the images of Lex, stretched helplessly on those soft sheets, watching Lex undress, fine silky shirt and soft wool pants falling to the floor, revealing lengths of perfect skin to feel. Never have to worry about anyone else, wonder how he'll pay the bills or escape detection, do nothing but be whatever it is Lex wants him to be. Dangerous, his head tells him, it's dangerous, he'll figure out what you are, if he doesn't suspect already, and he's got to. He's in Smallville, and soon, someone will say something and Lex isn't stupid, he'll figure it out, or some of it, and oh God, what--no.

Lex's mouth on his lower stomach erases the thought.

But with Lex's clever fingers on his cock, smiling at him, pleased he could coax Clark to breathless pants, it doesn't seem so bad. "I want--"

Lex lifts his head, mouth shiny and soft looking. "Anything you want."

The sheer possibilities are enough to make him catch his breath. Clark reaches down, skating his fingers over Lex's shoulders, down his chest. So different from anyone else, in every way Clark knows. "I want to touch you."

Lex smiles, nodding permission, and Clark sits up, reaching for him. Turning them so Lex is under him, thighs spread across his, watching with hungry fascination. So different from the man who didn't want them when they met.

"Lex," Clark hears himself say, before he loses himself in all the touching. "I--when we met."

"Mmm." It's amazing what he can do to Lex with this. He doesn't look like this when Clark is blowing him or giving him a hand job or even when he's fucking Clark. Soft and satisfied and pleased all at once, but almost passive. Like he trusts Clark, which would be kind of crazy if it wasn't Lex, who doesn't do or think things like anyone Clark has ever met.

"Why didn't you--" Clark stops on the words. Thinking of how it would have been, he wonders what Lex would have been like as his first lover. Lex, who makes him feel things, want to feel things. "You didn't want me then."

Lex's eyes open as Clark circles a nipple absently with his thumb, raising it pink and hard.

"You were--" Lex stops, obviously having to think about it. "I wanted you, Clark. Since I first saw you." One leg slides around his waist, heel against the small of his back, pushing them together. Lex makes a low, pleased sound at the pressure, and Clark has to brace a hand on the couch above Lex's head to catch himself. Rubbing against denim, and he's never wanted to be naked like he does now, feel Lex against him, skin to skin, cock to cock.

"You didn't think I'd be good at it?" 

Lex's eyes widen, and both hands are on his face, drawing him down, close enough that their lips almost touch.

"You didn't want it." The intensity is hard to look away from, and Clark can't even make himself try. "But I wanted you. I wanted you when we met the first time, and the second time, and every minute between and since."

"For sex."

The blue eyes seem to spark. "To have." He stops more words with a slick, messy kiss, harder, tongue matching the rock of their hips together, and Clark has to pull away to breathe, panting at the warmth pooling at the base of his spine, the places Lex's fingers touch on his face. Reaching down, Lex pushes down Clark's jeans further, then unbuttons his own. "I wish I had. I wish I'd locked the doors and kept you in my bed and showed you everything and how good it could be." Cock free, the leg around Clark tightens, and Clark loses his train of thought at the feeling. Smooth, silky skin, hard and slick, rubbing against his. "It can be like this. Where you just do it to feel good."

Clark nods, feeling the heat creeping up his spine and down to his ass.

"When you do it with someone you like, someone you care about." Lex's breath is as ragged as his. "Someone who makes you want to feel."

God. Clark feels himself flushing, but Lex's hands twined in his hair don't let him look away, escape what Lex is saying or what he's feeling. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

There aren't words to describe this. Faint memories of jerking off in the barn to thoughts of Lana are eclipsed by this feeling. He wants--Clark isn't sure what he wants, just *more*, and *please* and he realizes he's saying it between breathless pants, muscles tight, skin feeling too small. Lex pulls him down for a rough kiss, teeth and tongue and lips and the faint taste of blood, and it's like some kind of sign for Clark's body, licking the taste of Lex's blood from his lips when his body feels like it's coming apart.

A dragging second where he feels Lex come, hot and wet against his stomach, before he comes, too, staring into wide blue eyes, utterly shocked. God, this is what Stella had been telling him about, Marian had been saying, and he never *got* it.

Collapsed on Lex's chest, Clark drags in air, feeling the fingers in his hair slowly unclench, softening to stroke down his back. He's shaking and can't figure out why. Coming with some guy's mouth wrapped around his cock had never been even *close* to this.

"Like that," Lex whispers. "Soon, you'll come like that when I'm sucking you, and when I'm inside you, and when you're inside me, and it'll be even better."

Clark nods, breath stuttering at the images Lex paints in his mind. Closing his eyes at the possessive arm around his shoulders, letting the warmth close over him like a blanket, Clark never, ever wants to even *think* of moving anytime soon. Luckily, Lex's arms around him seem to agree, and Clark lets the feeling coat him inside and out.

Worries about Smallville and Lex there seem very far away.

* * *

Oh God, he hates Smallville *so much*.

Five hours ago, he arrived in the castle to find Dad already in residence, and eight days ago, he left a sleepy Clark in that hideous apartment, too big for the small twin bed he rolled into, falling asleep almost before Lex left the room. He's beginning to feel like a junkie, twitching at the absence. Metropolis. Clark. Either/or. God dammit, he wants to be anywhere but here.

He could be in Metropolis. He could be in Metropolis *right now*, doing something useful, doing something interesting, doing anything and everything and every*one* but this, Clark especially, Clark included.

Instead, he is crunching numbers via spreadsheet and on his third bottle of brandy for the day.

Because? His life sucks.

Life was so much better when there was less paper involved.

"Mr. Luthor?"

He wonders if he'll ever stop looking for his father when he hears that. Turning his head, he rubs the back of his neck, trying to work out the kinks. Has it been six months yet? 

"There's someone here to see you. Something about a deliveries--" She trails off, obviously waiting for him to catch up with the program. 

Lex stares at her blankly, coming up empty. "Deliveries?"

She almost sighs. "For the castle? You ordered--"

"Oh!" Oh, thank God. If he has to eat one more vegetable from the local grocery store, he just might start mutating. What the hell do these people *do* to their produce? "Send him in."

"Her, sir." With a flicker of skirt, his secretary wanders out, and Lex takes a second to admire the high cut of the A-line riding up the back of her thighs before sitting back, trying to organize his expression into something approaching professional.

A few long seconds, then "Mrs. Kent, sir."

The woman that comes in seems vaguely familiar, but then again, *Smallville*, so really, he could have seen her before. Faded red hair and faded blue eyes. Lex flips his mental spreadsheets and finds the name. Kent. Organic farm, on the brink of bankruptcy. His father's never mentioned them, but a cursory background check shows his bank holds the mortgage to their land. He could swear there's something about pie in there, but he'd been too distracted to pay attention, and really, it wasn't important. He just wants decent food. "Mrs. Kent. Please, take a seat."

She eyes him suspiciously but settles herself on a chair. Lex stares at his secretary until she takes the hint and vanishes out the door with an offended click of heels. He's still torn on whether she works for his father or just likes to know everything. 

"Mr. Luthor." She sees Lionel when she looks at him--he's never done anything to merit that particular look. Fine, at that. He's so not interested in rehabilitating the Luthor name. "You wanted to be added to our delivery route?"

"Yes." Lex tries not to fiddle with a pen and fails. This is what his life's been reduced to. Signing contracts for organic produce and making big vats of terrible fertilizer. "I read over the contract your husband sent over. Is there anything else you require?"

"No." She gives him an expectantly wary look, and Lex glances down at it on his desk, almost sighing. Probably waiting to be screwed over. Ah well. Picking it up, he hands it over. Her fingers are careful, tips closing around the paper like it's poisoned. He could get *extremely* tired of that very fast. "Payment on first delivery, correct?"

"Thursdays," she says distractedly, reading, flipping pages like a lawyer. That sharp look makes him wonder. "Is five o'clock convenient?"

"Six would be better, but I'll have someone at the castle to take deliveries if I can't be there personally."

From the look on her face, the five o'clock is going to win if it means no actual Lex Luthor presence. Well, fine. Picking up his pen, Lex pretends that the solitaire game on his laptop is the latest in breaking news from the Tokyo exchange. Or more appropriately, high quality porn. "If that's all, Mrs. Kent--"

Standing up almost too quickly, she nods, pasting on a sharply professional smile. "Thank you, Mr. Luthor. Have a good day."

"You as well." He doesn't look up again until the door's closed behind her. Lex leans back, stretching out kinks in too tight muscles. He hates offices. He hates business. And dear God, does he hate this town. Leaning over, he presses the intercom button. "I'm taking the rest of the afternoon. Don't call, I won't answer." Flipping it off, Lex grabs his coat, shutting down his laptop with a few flickers of his fingers.

Once outside, he glances at the plant, trying not to wince. Home contains Lionel. The town contains boredom unequaled by anywhere Lex has visited in his life. Sullivan had taken part of the week off, due to his daughter's release from the hospital. Lex considers this as he unlocks his car. In some places, it's polite to send flowers or visit with the release of a loved one from the hospital. He thinks. 

In the back of his head, Lex remembers his father mumbling about how Smallville cost him ten times what any other plant did in health care premiums. Maybe the town isn't all bad, if it can make his father so--unhappy.

If he remembers correctly, there's a flower shop downtown. There's no reason why he shouldn't stop by to say hello.

* * *

Maybe this wasn't the greatest idea he's ever had.

There's some history with the Rosses that Lex has no desire to know a damn thing about and people continue to drop sly hints when around him. This is one of those time he should have listened. Death glares from the living room do not a good mood make.

And really, he thinks he should have expected this.

Gabe, however, is just like always. "Lex." One hand closes over his distractedly, and Lex studies the dark circles under his eyes, the way the hand seems too thin. He looks like he hasn't slept an hour in his entire life. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect--"

"My fault. I should have called ahead." Or not come. And what was he thinking, anyway? "I just dropped by to--" Check up? Sounds foreboding. See how you were doing? Who the hell would believe that of a Luthor? These people thought he ate babies for breakfast. 

"It means a lot to me." And from the look on Gabe's face, that may actually be some form of true. Stepping back, Gabe glances around the room with a harried expression. Two Rosses, a male Kent, and some other faces that, given the hostile expressions, he has no desire to identify, glare back at him with polite masks and small cups of coffee. Thrusting out the flowers, Lex tries to think of a way to escape that doesn't make him look like a complete moron. "I--sorry about the--I'll be back this week. I--"

"Take as much time as you need." Lex feels better just thinking about his dad's reaction. Gabe takes the flowers with a blink, as if not entirely sure what to do with them. "For your daughter."

"Chloe?" Does Gave have another seriously injured daughter? "Ah, yeah. She's--um, not up to visitors right now, but I'll--I'll send your--best wishes." 

"Of course. Settling her back in must be stressing." Lex reviews what he remembers. Months in a burn unit, physical therapy, possible reconstructive surgery. He wonders if LuthorCorp health covers that on its policy. Probably not. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Gabe's smile widens. This could be the first genuinely nice person Lex has met in this godforsaken town. "Of course. Can I get you some coffee?"

Trapping him here in a sea of hostility, with everyone making polite conversation around him like he doesn't exist. It's happened before. It's not fun. But it is informative--an interesting effect of this is that people can and do forget he's in the room at all. 

It's tempting. He's been feeling a little masochistic lately. Opening his mouth, he almost accepts.

"Dad?'

Gabe turns, almost dropping the flowers, and Lex admits to a kind of morbid fascination that holds him rooted to the spot as the slow, unmistakable sounds of a wheelchair float toward them. He should leave before she sees him--a comparative stranger, not family or family friends, and any sixteen year old girl would be sensitive after--that. Whatever the level of injury, but if it keeps you in a burn unit for a year, it's got to be pretty damn bad.

Morbid fascination, yes, but also, he'll be *damned* if he's running out in front of these people.

A colorful scarf above a reasonably pretty face, if you ignored the raw red scarring arrowing from the corner of her left eye down beneath the scarf, where Lex suspects one ear may no longer exist. Her chair pauses, blue eyes widening as she looks at him, a cup of coffee perched carefully one covered knee. She's clothed from neck to ankle in something light and cotton, a thin blanket over her legs, but bandages peek out from where it ends at wrists and throat. Little slippers cover her feet. At a glance, he's seen a lot worse fully functional.

She stares at him blankly for a second, then her eyes swivel around the room, checking for more strangers. He wonders, with a sick feeling, if she's going to cry. He doesn't think he's up for that.

"Chloe--" Gabe says, voice broken, stepping toward her. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I didn't know you needed--" He stops, taking a breath, assembling himself as quickly as he can. "Chloe, this is the new plant manager, Lex Luthor. I've told you about him?"

Her horror seems reserved for the fact that he there at all, not his name. A step up, he thinks, slowly stepping around Gabe. Wired, exhausted, and a single parent, having to deal with all of this. "Chloe? I've heard a lot about you from your father." It's a lie, but then again, Gabe simply doesn't *talk*. "I heard you were released this week." What did you say to girls like this?

She licks her lips, eyes flickering between him and the rest of the room. "I--hi, Mr. Luthor."

"Call me Lex." Crouch to talk, or keep towering over her? Jesus, is he supposed to know this shit by instinct? "It's good to finally have a face to match the stories." Oh, wrong thing to say, Christ, he's going to do something stupid soon, and in front of a room acting like jackals surrounding their first square meal in over a year. "I'd better get back to the plant before something explodes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sullivan."

She nods slowly.

"I'll walk you out," Gabe volunteers, and Lex gives Chloe another smile, hoping to God he doesn't look as utterly out of his depth as he feels. 

The fresh air of the porch helps. Breathing in, Lex turns his gaze on the man beside him.

"Thanks again for stopping by."

"You have a nurse on call?" Lex asks. What does Luthor health care cover? He should go review. Gabe's expression tells him that this, at least, is not.

"Not full-time, no, but she'll be coming twice a week to continue Chloe's physical therapy. She--lost the use of her right leg."

Lex doesn't think anything shows on her face.

"We were lucky," Gabe says, voice dropping. "Most of the children--didn't make it." Gabe takes a deep breath. "She lost all her closest friends. She's been--" He stops, flushing, and Lex tries to think of something to say that won't sound too trite.

Lex keeps his gaze fixed on his car, out of place in this driveway, like he was out of place in that room. And unwanted at that. "Take as much time as you need to get her settled, Gabe."

Gabe's head jerks up. "Sir--"

"You can certainly telecommute if you need to, just keep me informed." There. That actually sounds reasonable. There's very little that Gabe can't do at home, in hearing of his daughter. His dad is going to be pissed when he hears. That makes the day that much brighter.

"thank you." Gabe's shoulders bow a little, and Lex nods, wondering if it's safe to go ahead and leave or wait some decent interval.

"Keep in touch." And yes, free, down the stairs, and yes, Smallville still sucks, but it could be far worse. A new mental list is being written in his head. Look at LuthorCorp's health plan for interesting loopholes. Hide from Dad--God knows, the castle is big enough, and it'll annoy him to the point of tears that he's all revved up to bitch and no Lex in sight. Yes. This afternoon? Not bad at all.

* * *

Stella stares at him over the coffee cup. "You can't trust her, Clark."

Clark slumps back into the cream couch, wondering if just ignoring her will make her stop. Rubbing a hand over his face, he closes his eyes. "Stella--"

"Fuck that, Clark. She's getting desperate. What, you buy her little reform act? She's been hanging out with some unsavory buddies down in Suicide Slums, and you don't go there without murder on your mind. She's--unstable." Stella puts down the cup. "Look, I've been hearing things, and I don't like them."

Clark snorts. "How would you hear anything from up here?" Over a week since he saw Lex, and he's already feeling--itchy. Something. A twist in his stomach reminds him he hasn't eaten in a while, and he probably should have grabbed something, but he'd been too desperate to get out and away, and it was like Marian could hear him thinking. There are people sleeping in their living room that he doesn't recognize, and the smells from the mess make him sick.

He's never washed his sheets so many times in his life, and these days, they never seem to get clean.

Stella leans back, cracking her neck, eyeing him like she can read his mind. "I still trick, sweetie. And people know I'll pay for certain information." She shrugs, pushing her hair off her shoulders impatiently. "Lionel Luthor's sniffing around, looking for something about that night vigilante, for a start. Bet you didn't know that."

Clark breathes out. "I--guessed." He tries really hard not to think about it. Lex is good for that. Lex is good at everything, but he's amazing at the forgetting thing. Clark forces a shrug. "He wants to chase rumors and pay for them, no big."

"He's also started asking around about you." She shrugs when he looks up. "Just don't be surprised if he shows up on your doorstep to figure out what you're doing with his son."

"Fucking him." This is way too complicated. Clark's starting to lose the threads of everything he's supposed to keep secret. Right now, Lex is in Smallville, and God alone knows what he's hearing, or has seen, or--wait. Stop. Breathe. If hasn't yet--

\--that's just pure good luck. "I can take care of Marian until--"

"She gets you killed? How much is she bringing in these days?" Reaching over, Stella runs a finger beneath his eyes. "You aren't sleeping, and I don't even want to know how much you've been tricking. Are you staying safe?"

Clark opens his mouth, closing it soundlessly. "I don't--I never--"

"When they offer double for a condom free night, some people double take." She smiles then, sitting back. "Good. Keep that up. Are you letting her pick your tricks?"

Clark opens his mouth to deny it, then stops. The look on Stella's face tells him that would be useless. She's got better sources than he does.

"Is she using?"

Licking his lips, Clark looks away.

"Clark. Look at me." And like that, she's sitting beside him. "You love her, I get that. She's your friend. But she's selling you for drugs. This isn't about survival. You're being pimped out by junkie who's too strung out to do it for herself. *Look at me*."

He can't, because he doesn't want to think about it. "Stella--"

"She's been arrested ten times for prostitution. You never have. If you want a first time in jail, you keep letting her pick, and get a double with possession attached. That's a felony, honey. Not a night and bail."

Clark clenches his teeth together. "I'm careful."

"If you were careful, there wouldn't be a line outside Marian's door to get you for a night." His head jerks up. "What the hell have you been doing? You think working eighteen of twenty-four hours will keep her satisfied? Your phone was turned off two weeks ago. Where the hell is the money going?"

Clark stands up. He doesn't need this on top of everything else. "I don't--they come to the apartment. We didn't need a phone. It's easier to keep an eye on her when I'm there--" God, he hates his bed. He hates the apartment. Even the idea of leaving freezes him, because there's no where else to go.

"She's pimping them into your home?" Now Stella sounds--he doesn't have words for how she sounds. Clark stares at the floor and tries to pretend he doesn't care.

"Don't. Just--stop."

Doesn't care, there's no real difference, it's still sex, just not at the clubs, it's in his bed, in the apartment, sometimes with Marian there if it's something weirder than normal, always with people he never, ever would have chosen, and not just because of their reputations. It's convenient as shit, true. It's exhausting as hell, even for him. It's--

Maybe she hears something in his voice, because she *does*, sipping her coffee, then picking up both their cups and going to the kitchen. She's in there for a while, and Clark watches out the window, the view of the clean, neat streets. After a while, Clark goes after her, finding her setting the pretty breakfast table with plates. "Stella?"

She gives him a fierce look over the top of a pitcher of juice. "Sit down. You're not wandering off to sell you ass on an empty stomach."

Clark tries not to wince, and then wonders if pride is enough to make him say that no, he's fine, he has food at home, when he knows damn well there's not. He can't remember the last time he went grocery shopping. Or the last time he ate. "I'm fine, Stella."

She doesn't bother to answer, dropping spaghetti into water, and the smell of tomato sauce makes Clark's stomach turn over in shock, wondering what the hell that is, and how it can have some.

Glancing at his watch, Clark wonders if he can get back before his six o'clock, thinking of the paper taped to his bathroom mirror, reminding him that time is, in their world, actual money. 

He thinks he can.

* * *

"How long?"

Lex can almost *hear* Stella's frustration.

"I don't know. Last time he came over, he ate the equivalent of a small army's weekly rations, okay? I haven't seen him since, and when Clark doesn't want you to find him? You don't." The pitch of her voice hurts his ears. "Marian won't let me in the apartment, and he's *not* always sleeping, I don't give a shit what she says. Frankly, I'm surprised if he sleeps at all. A habit like hers costs serious money, and even Clark can't possibly be making enough to supply her." Stella's voice flattens. "Luckily, Marian's dealers will take in trade, so Clark's probably fucking for powder these days."

Lex puts down the broken pen, noticing his fingers are stained in red ink. "Son of a bitch." 

"You wanted news, you didn't say just tell you good stuff. Clark--" She stops, and he can almost *hear* her running her hands through her hair. "I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. If he won't fucking *leave*, I can't do a damn thing. I tried to offer him a room here, but hell if he'll leave her alone. It's like--I don't know what it's fucking like, but he acts like it's his duty to see how bad it can get, and it's fucking him up. Word is, he's taking anyone these days with a twenty and fifteen minutes, and you know as well as I do what the fuck that comes down to."

Exposure, for one. Metropolis hustlers were hunted down with a hell of a lot more energy than the prostitutes, and that was saying something. Second, forget the club scene. Clark's fucking the lowest denominator of Suicide Slums, and that's enough to make Lex queasy. "You can't see him?"

"She's got some new buddies that made it pretty clear I'm not welcome downtown anymore. Which is fucking *halving* my income, by the way."

Lex would have smiled if he'd remembered. "I don't pay you enough?"

Stella almost sounds offended. "I like sex."

Lex grins then. "I know. Has my dad been around?"

"Just watching from corners, that shit." She sighs. "After Marian's little not-so-subtle threats, I started some self-defense classes. They make me nervous. Hell, between your daddy's bullies and Marian's mini-cabal, I'm beginning to look into guns."

And making Stella nervous is a brand new vista of creeped the fuck out. Drumming his fingers on his desk, Lex considers the view out his office windows. Like he didn't have enough to deal with. "I'll get you one if you want one." And hope she used it, preferably on Marian. "I could come to the city--"

"I wouldn't trust Marian not to notice if Clark slips out with you. And frankly, he's *listening* to her shit, and--I don't know if he'd go, even for a weekend, where Marian can watch every move he makes. And she is watching him, Lex, and so are her little friends. I don't know if this shit is just her figuring out that it's easier to sell her roommate than trick herself or something else--"

"Something else?" This doesn't sound good.

Stella sighs. "She's spending time with gangsters. The serious kind, with penthouses and police in their pockets. If she sees Clark out doing something she doesn't like--I don't like his chances up against her friends if he starts asking why he's fucking for her drugs. If he ever takes it into his head to ask."

Brand new *universes* of creeped the fuck out. Lex closes his eyes, breathing deeply. "Out of the city." Clark beaten the shit out of in a back alley, throat cut, or worseno.

"Out of the city." Stella's almost purring. Lex grins to himself.

"You want to get out, too."

"I'd like some time not watching my back, yeah. You get one of your guys to break Clark out, we come down for a nice weekend away from the big city, and you can have all the Clark you want without your hick town being any the wiser if I'm along. It'll give him some time to breathe, too. And maybe between the two of us, we can convince him that he can do a hell of a lot better away from Marian."

Good point. The idea of showing Clark the manor house has been percolating a while. The servants here are his, imported from Metropolis, so they'll keep their mouths shut, and he's learned how to assure that Lionel's people can't discover a thing he doesn't want him to know. "I'll send you Rodney. Come down Friday morning, Clark handcuffed in the trunk if necessary. I'll take the rest of the day off. Any problems, I can be in Metropolis by afternoon." And Marian had better hope and pray Lex doesn't feel the need to handle this personally. He is *so* not in a mood to see the woman damaging his favorite toy. "Good hunting."

Stella's voice drips irony. "You got it." She hangs up with a laudable lack of fanfare, and Lex leans back in his chair. The intercom buzzes, interrupting the mental image of Clark stretched out in that indecently big bed, rumpled and pretty and flushed from sex. God, he's missed Clark. If he wasn't in fucking *Smallville*--fuck, there's got to be a way to convince Clark get the fuck away from her. Or at least, make it very much in Marian's best interests to take care of him.

"Yes?" His secretary has no instincts whatsoever.

"Gabe here to see you, sir."

Oh. "Send him in."

Pushing himself upright, Lex straightens his suit and quickly tosses the pen into the trash, trying to look both busy and open to conversation. Gabe's two days a week at the plant are working out very well. Lex is seriously considering broaching a revision of the health plan for the entire company. Or at least Smallville.

Gabe looks better, Lex thinks, watching the man walk in, almost a spring in his step, and the smile's so sincere that Lex smiles back and actually means it. Waving to a chair, Lex gets up, pouring them each a glass. It's late enough in the afternoon. He can do that.

Gabe eyes it askance but takes it gamely. "Sir."

"Lex. How's Chloe?"

Jesus, he's almost glowing. "Better. Thank you so much, again, for--"

Lex cuts him off with another wave. Sometimes, it's good to be boss. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad to hear it."

Gabe smiles again, taking a small sip of brandy. "That's why I'm here, kind of. Chloe and I--well, we'd like to have you over for dinner, if you have the time."

That's--new. Lex is metaphorically rocked back in his chair. He can count the number of dinner invitations he's had in this town on one hand, and every one of them had been the hostile kind. It may not be good for digestion to enjoy eating with people who hate you, but it's great for amusement value.

Gabe flushes, obviously not sure what to make of Lex's expression. Lex wonders what he looks like. "I mean, if you don't have any previous engagements planned--"

"I don't. Tonight?" Tomorrow night will, hopefully, be Clark time, in which there will be a very different kind of dinner. In the fertile fields of Lex's imagination, sitting on chair and clothes won't be involved. "Your daughter doesn't mind?"

Gabe smiles again, reddening. "Actually, it was her idea."

Hmm. Interesting. Lex reviews what he remembers about Chloe Sullivan. When the school still existed, she'd been head of the high school paper. Once a mudraker, always a mudraker, Lex thinks, trying not to grin. "What time?"

"Is seven okay with you?" Gabe starts to stand up, taking another hasty drink, like he's worried Lex will be offended if the level of alcohol hasn't dropped. Mental note--offer coffee from now on.

"Perfect." Time to go home, shower, change, call Rodney and put him at Stella's disposal. All good so far. "I'll see you then."

Gabe nods, and damned if the man hasn't changed since his daughter came home. Lex would swear he hadn't seen the man smile more than a handful of times, but today, all about the good mood. Lex makes a mental note to check up on what the therapist has said about Chloe's rehab. 

Glancing at the clock, Lex decides to make his rounds a little early. For the first time since coming to Smallville, he's actually looking forward to visiting with an employee. Fascinating.

* * *

Marian's waiting on his freshly-laundered bed when he comes out of the shower.

She doesn't look directly at him anymore, black-circled eyes fixing to some point above his shoulder, and her body's tense. Even through her careful make-up, Clark can see the pallor. 

Clark stops short at the bathroom door, noticing the wary way her shoulders are set, feeling that pang of guilt again, and it's like that's the one thing in his life that he has no shortage of. There is always more guilt.

"A guy came by yesterday while you were--otherwise occupied." Fiddling with the edges of her skirt, she flicks her eyes to his face briefly, then away, like looking too long is dangerous, staring into the sun. Her new bracelets jangle against each other. "He offered a thousand for the night. So he'll be the only one tonight."

Lex? No. Clark clamps down on the ridiculous hope, burying it deep. Lex would just come *get* him, not bother going through Marian. But God, that's a lot of money. "Paid up front?" Walking to his dresser, Clark tries to ignore the way she winces away when he passes. She's scared of him. And he even understands. That doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Half up front, half after." Restlessly, her hands smooth down the cheap cotton across too-thin legs, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. It's been a long time since they've been alone in the same room for any length of time. Since his little temper tantrum about Lex, come to think. Clark can still remember her bruises, the hunted way she looked at him after. "He'll be here in about an hour, so I'm leaving for the night. I'll be back in the morning."

The temperature in the room drops. It's got to be Clark's imagination--their heat and air haven't worked in months. "You always stay here." It's one of the few conditions Clark had set. It's not like they can *hurt* him, but-- Carefully, Clark picks out a t-shirt. He'll change into something more appropriate later. Right now, he needs the comfort of denim and worn cotton. "Marian--"

"He's safe. I wouldn't leave you alone otherwise. Though it's not like you can be hurt." The edge in her voice shuts him up. True. He can't be hurt, can he? "That was one of his conditions. He seemed okay."

The people Marian thinks are okay are light-years from Clark's ideas of okay. It's one of the reasons Clark's scared to let her trick. God alone knows what she'd do, and there she'd be, throat cut in some back alley because she crosses the wrong asshole. Jerking the t-shirt on, Clark drags out jeans, wondering vaguely when he stopped wearing underwear, even at home. Right. When tricking *came* home with him, and his private life became his public life, which is all his life, and God, he just might be getting a headache, no matter how invulnerable he is.

Marian is scuttling toward the door. Clark turns, buttoning the jeans quickly before she can make her escape. "You're--leaving now?" She's usually here to let them in. Clark's nerves tighten another notch. If it's one of Jeremy's little buddies--he doesn't know how he's going to handle that. "Mari, I--"

Marian pulls open the door. "He wants to see you alone. I--my cellphone's on the table if you need anything. I've got some errands to run. Call your little friend Stella if something goes wrong." Marian pauses, eyes on his shoulder again. "Where has she been anyway? Didn't you say she was going to drop by this week?"

Clark's stomach tightens. "Probably busy." But he's wondered. Just a stop by to say hi. Coffee. Something. But not even a whisper of her at the door. 

"With that lover of hers? Probably. She hasn't been on the streets much. Forgetting old friends. It happens." Marian tilts her head, not quite meeting his eyes. "I've gotta go. Be good. He's not asking for anything too exotic, so you shouldn't have any problems."

Swallowing, Clark nods, and she slides out the door, shutting it behind her, like she can't wait to get away from him. Still too thin, face pinched, but her eyes are fever-bright and her hands are shaking. Out to get a fix, probably, and Clark tries to remember how much he made last night, but everything's hazy, faces and names and things done, no different from any other night and morning for the last few weeks. When he woke up, his mouth tasted like a sewer smells. God, he really doesn't *want* to know.

Walking barefoot to the kitchen, Clark opens the refrigerator, finding the milk he picked up sometime this week between tricks and pouring a glass. Coffee would be nice, though, and Clark spends a few long seconds remembering the stuff Stella has, which reminds him *why* he hasn't heard from Stella.

It's not like she's not half-right--this is bad, worse, worst, but no matter how much thought Clark puts into it, he can't find a way out. Marian will kill herself if he leaves--she's implied as much, and God, with her habit, she wouldn't last an hour alone. It's compromise--she's here, his tricks come here, and she's not in danger. It's just--

Laundry. Every day. The sheets he keeps having to throw out. He barely remembers sunlight, and that coffee shop he used to go to, and even Lex is becoming a fuzzy memory compared to every day like this. He misses clubbing more than he thought possible-- losing himself in music and bodies and teasing touches that don't go anywhere until it's sex. He misses eating at the table for dinner and evenings alone at home with Marian, watching movies when they still had a TV. Most of all, he misses being free, at least a little.

The living room is still a mess from the night before--broken pieces of mirror, a crack pipe left by trick number three, powder ground into the carpet and the smell of liquor and vomit from when Marian and some friends shot up later in the evening, some condom wrappers and a few unopened ones on the floor. He's not sure she took money for that one--he thinks, a little dazedly, it was for the baggie, deflated on the floor beneath the scarred coffee table. Slowly, Clark hunts up an old grocery bag and starts cleaning up, ignoring the smells that threaten to nauseate him, wondering if he has time to go out and grab something to eat before the trick arrives. Tossing the beside their overflowing trash can, Clark wets the ragged remains of the sponge with cold water. Their hot disappeared last week, and he's not sure if Marian ever got around to calling the super to report it. He should--he will, in the morning. Cold water doesn't ever seem to make him clean anymore.

There's not much else to do, and Clark kneels on the carpet, sponge in hand, trying to clean up the worst of the vomit from the carpet, dirty wet carpet soaking into the knees of his jeans. He has to be more careful; he doesn't have a lot of jeans left anymore.

He's just--tired, that's it. Marian knows he doesn't need much sleep, none at all really, but unrelenting activity takes its toll. Nikita had said something, he remembers that, when she and Marian were just on this side of stoned out of their minds, running a considering hand through his hair and making him shudder. No better than the rest of us, are you, honey? Not so scary when you're used up, are you, Clark? 

He's--not used up. He's fine, just tired, and maybe Marian will be good after tonight and he can get some of tomorrow to himself. Run over to Stella's, even if she isn't speaking to him anymore. Walk by Lex's penthouse and try to remember what it felt like to be warm and rested and liking touch. It's probably the most pathetic thing he could possibly do at this point, but he'll do it anyway, because pride has it's place, and that place isn't him. He's not sure he'd know it if he saw it.

The knock on the door startles him into dropping the sponge. Grabbing it, he pushes the coffee table back into place, wishing he'd not given in and given his watch to Marian to pawn last week when tricks were slower than usual. They don't have a clock in the house. It's got to be early, though, too early.

The strangest thoughts chase themselves through his head, sponge clenched in one hand. He could not answer it. He could answer it and say it was a mistake, that he's not tricking tonight. He could answer it, then leave. Answer it and crawl out the window. Take a day of rest, a break, wake up one morning with his mouth tasting like more men than he can count. One day where every shower seems to make him filthier.

It's tempting. Clark, turning the knob, wonders if he'd ever have the nerve to go through with it. Marian would be alone, though, and Clark can't face that, not with what could happen to her out there without him to watch over her.

Sighing, Clark opens the door.

* * *

"Welcome," Gabe says with a big grin, and Lex offers the bottle of wine, a vague memory from the few adult dinner parties he's attended unaired for research. Wine is good. 

Gabe takes it with a quizzical grin. "You didn't have to bring anything. Come in." Stepping back, he takes Lex's coat, another mind-bendingly adult moment. He's at an employees house for dinner, like an actual adult boss of a man old enough to be his father. This is so not something Lex would ever have seen himself doing.

Silently, Lex follows Gabe into the living room, where Chloe's already sitting, bright in a vivid green, long sleeve blouse, bandaged hand on her knee. The jeans are obviously new, and obvious not her normal wear anymore. Small, socked feet peek out from the footrest of the wheelchair. Her eyes are fixed on the laptop in her laugh. "Chloe? Lex is here."

The blond hair is carefully arranged beneath the bright green scarf, and she must have put on make-up, because the scarring on her cheek isn't as red as he remembers. It pulls up one corner of her mouth, making her seem like she's almost smiling. When she looks up, the smile extends, though Lex can't be sure it isn't for her father's benefit, and shuts down her computer. "Hi, Lex. Welcome to our humble abode." Her hands make a sweeping gesture, taking the entire room. The coffee table he remembers from his last visit is gone, as are the rugs, the floor neatly and carefully tiled for the use of wheelchairs. Turning her chair, she rolls toward him, and Lex has to fight the urge to tell her not to bother, he'll come to her. Would that be rude? "I'm sorry about last time, I wasn't expecting you." She extends her hand, and Lex shakes it, trying not to be ginger. She doesn't strike him as the type to want to be coddled.

"Have a seat, Lex," Gabe says. "Can I get you some coffee?"

Yes, from now on, coffee for Gabe at the office. "Yes, please."

With another wide smile, Gabe walks out, and Lex tries to subtly scan the living room for the right place to sit. Somewhere easy for Chloe to sit nearby? Or maybe she won't want him anywhere near her. Why the hell can't things like this be simple? If he liked Gabe less, this situation would so not be a problem.

Chloe makes the decision for him, thank God and every deity ever to grace humankind with it's presence. Leading him to the sofa, she parks her wheelchair where he suspects an armchair had once taken residence.

She also starts the conversation. "So, you're Dad's new boss." She eyes him up and down like she's trying to unfetter secrets from the cut of his coat. Only that he has a taste for designer suits, he hopes. "You're younger than I thought you'd be."

Lex smiles, leaning back into the couch. Not hostile, at least. "My father sent me down to give me some experience and to see if we can't get the plant back on track."

Chloe nods, eyes a little distant, like she's taking mental notes. "Dad thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread." She flushes slightly, her gaze fixing somewhere over his right shoulder. "I mean--thanks for flexing Dad's time like that."

"I don't want to lose a superlative employee. Besides that, his work can be done just as easily from home." Lex wonders if he should ask her questions. She's not in school, she's in rehab. Should he ask her about that. "I haven't seen your father this happy since I came."

Chloe blushes more. "He worries too much."

For a daughter in the burn ward for almost a year? "I'm sorry what happened to you. I remember reading about the fire in the papers."

"In Metropolis?" Chloe's mouth twists a little, scarred side jumping. "Yeah, mass murder is kinda big news, isn't it?"

Oh damn. "I--"

"I was one of the lucky ones. I was outside waiting for--a friend." Here eyes grow distant. "He--well. He's one of the ones we lost, I think." She shrugs carelessly, but the look on her face is almost painful. "I--a lot of my friends died."

Most of the student body, if Lex remembers correctly. A new high school across town had barely been dented by the addition of the remainder of the kids from Smallville High. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Her shoulders hunch uncomfortably. A bandage peeks out just above the collar of her shirt before she straightens again. "Sorry. It's still kind of new to me. I mean--" She waves one long-fingered hand around the room a little. "It wasn't so real at the hospital. Home--it's different." And not in a good way, that's for sure. Thank God Lex let Gabe change his schedule. "What did you do? I mean, before you came here?"

Lex almost smiles. He might barely know her, but he knows a natural researcher when it's sitting only a few feet from him, smiling innocently with intense curiosity in his eyes. She's been reading up on him. "This and that. College, mostly." Her hands move to her laptop, then stop at the case, stroking it absently. "What did you read?"

For a second, she looks surprised, then grins, wide and white. She used to be a pretty girl. Hell, she's a pretty girl now, even with the scars. "Mea culpa. I--used to be a reporter at school. I never really got over it. At the hospital, my doctors started not visiting unless I was intubated so I couldn't ask questions."

"You must have been very good."

"I would have been." There's a wistful note to her voice, and Lex forces his smile not to fade. "I liked it a lot."

Settling back on the couch, Lex tilts his head just enough to hold her eyes. "A reporter, hmm?" Stretching his legs, Lex rests one arm on the couch. "You know, as it happens, I haven't had a chance to give an interview in Smallville yet."

"Didn't you threaten them with stalking suits?"

She's *good*. Lex feels his grin widen. "I could be persuaded to do one."

It has to be something in the genetics of reporters. Every damn one of them gets that look in their eyes; starving, like a hyena after a ten day fast on bread and water. "What would it take to persuade you, Mr. Luthor?"

"Lex," he corrects, resettling himself. This is almost fun. "What are you offering?"

* * *

It takes a few seconds for Clark to believe who is standing there, looking at him with curious, amused eyes.

"Mr. Luthor." His mouth feels like it's full of chalk, forcing the words out dry and shocked.

Lionel doesn't wait to be invited, coming in like it's his own property, and Clark flinches away at the casual brush of Lionel's shoulder against his. It's--not. Can't be. Marian--oh God, Marian, how the hell did she run into *him*?

Lionel turns with a toothy smile and a swirl of his coat, taking up all the tiny space in the living room. His eyes track the room, the dilapidated furniture, eyeing stained carpet and the dim glow of the bulbs over their head. 

"Mr--Clark?" The smile widens, reminding Clark of Lex in all the wrong ways. "I'm sorry, I don't know your surname."

"Just Clark." His throat closes over--he can't do this. He just can't. It's-- "Are you--"

"It's not easy to get your company, Clark." Lionel's smirk widens, eyes crawling down Clark's body like he's taking inventory, like he already knows it, inside and out, already *owns* it. Clark stops the shudder from long practice. Lionel's smile widens, like he knows that. "Your--friend is quite the negotiator."

One fucking thousand *dollars*. Clark slowly closes the door. She's probably already spent it. Licking his lips, he feels something liquid splash on his bare foot, realizing he's squeezing all the water out of the sponge, and possibly compressed it to shred as well. "I--you're early."

"I'm paying enough that I think we can skip the pleasantries." Lionel gives the couch a look that makes Clark shiver before turning and gracefully sitting down in Lex's easy sprawl, like he owns the room and Clark, too, watching him with Lex's smirk, but not Lex. "If you would--." He makes an eloquent gesture, and nothing, not discipline and not familiarity, nothing can stop the way the blood drains out of his face. Oh God, no. No. He can't-- "Cat got your tongue? That's fine. I just want your mouth. Now."

It takes everything to drag himself to the couch, and this is the worst thing. Marian's friends and the things they ask him to do that make him sick, he can handle that. Knowing that whenever he leaves the apartment, everyone knows what he's been doing to earn Marian's money, he can handle that. He can handle no sleep and filthy sheets and waking up hating himself each morning, his mouth tasting like a sewer, he's *good* at that, but he doesn't think he can handle Lionel Luthor's cock in his mouth, and Marian *knew* about Lex, and she knew who this man was, and God, she *did* this.

"Now." There's a steely edge to his voice that sends another shudder down Clark's back. It's too short, the space of carpet between them, too short to try and shut down and not think, but thank God, his body's always known what to do, always knows how to do it whether he's there or not. Kneeling between the wide-spread legs, Clark drops the sponge on one perfect shoe, hand unerringly finds the zipper and buttons, opening the fly easily. No underwear. Like Lex. A big hand closes in his hair, and that's nothing like Lex, too big and gripping like he'll pull out hair just for the fun of it, jerking Clark's mouth down to his cock.

Blowjobs are all the same, all different, and all predictable, but Clark can't retreat anywhere for this, trusting reflex to guide him, the slow, lazy rhythm that thrusts into the back of his throat unexpectedly, salty and sour, flesh blocking air, hitting his gag reflex like Lionel wants to make him choke, draw in sharp breaths through his nose. Holding his head at the worst angle possible, deliberately, Clark thinks, setting the rhythm with hard fingers. Closing his eyes, Clark shuts down thought. It's just sex. He can do this.

"I can see why my son shells out a fortune to play with you," Lionel breathes, jerking Clark back into the room. "You are very, very good." A pause, then the hand tightens, other one skimming his cheek to feel the cock inside. "Keep your eyes open."

Another choking thrust, slow and even and breathtakingly deep; Clark barely has time to breathe between. Hands braced on his own thighs, he tries to fall into the rhythm, but there's not one, nothing mindless, and the pull on his hair may not hurt, but that doesn't make it comfortable. 

"I've been curious about you, Clark." Jesus. "Marian's told me so much about you."

Fuck. And *fuck*.

"If you do well enough, I might like to make this more--regular." His voice catches in hs throat, released in a long, luxurious sigh. "Harder, Clark. We have all night, but I have other things I'd like to do." Another jerk on his hair, and Clark hears Lionel's breath catch in a little sigh, then another jerk of his hair, pulling him off, just in time for Lionel to come on his face.

A few long seconds later, Clark doesn't dare move, not sure if he's going to throw up or not, his stomach turning over, so glad he hasn't eaten. Lionel tucks himself back in his pants with a satisfied smile one-handed, not bothering to close them up, then pulls Clark's face toward him, tilting it so Clark can't look anywhere but those mocking eyes.

"Get undressed and get in the bed." A pause, and Lionel's thumb makes a slow curve on his cheek, pushing it between Clark's lips. "And wash your face. You're filthy." Standing up, he steps around the coffee table, and Clark listens to him go into the hall bathroom.

* * *

"So you were sent to Smallville to learn the family business?" Chloe's voice is brightly eager, over the simple dinner of steak and potatoes, so very Smallville that Lex is beginning to feel like he's crossed over into some terrifying Lifetime movie. Gabe has a long suffering look on his face--Lex supposes he's used to his daughter's antics--but the smile pulling up the corners betrays his relief.

"More or less. It's been interesting." He pauses for a bite, knowing that will give her sufficient time to form another question. "Wonderful meal, Gabe."

"Chloe's a better cook," Gabe says, smiling at his daughter over the bowl of peas. Chloe, let our guest eat."

Chloe rolls her eyes, flicking back to Lex with another bright smile. This girl is going to go far, injured or not. "You studied biochemistry in college, right? How has that influenced your attitude toward agriculture and the uses of pesticides?"

Very, very far. Lex takes a bite of steak to get an answer that doesn't sound like something he'd use for a sound bite on television. The ring of the phone sends his hand to his hip automatically, and ridiculously, because he's looking right at the Sullivan cordless on the counter, but instinct is instinct. Frowning, Gabe wipes his fingers on a napkin and stands up.

"Dad! It's dinner!" The adolescent wail is so television-stereotyped that Lex grins over his next bite of mashed potatoes. Gabe gives him a helpless look that he returns with a grin. 

"Just a second. It could be important." Flicking it on, Gabe's smile comes through in his voice as he speaks. "Sullivan household."

"Dad's a junkie for the phone," sighs Chloe, smiling a little as her father walks out of the room, phone in hand. "He can't leave a ringing one unanswered."

"I have that same problem." The reason he turns his off, like now. Leaning back in his chair, Lex studies the slim girl. Her hand's a little clumsy still with the fork, but just looking at her now, except for the scar, he'd never have known she'd been in an accident. 

"Workaholics do." She gives him another smile, bright and young and transparently sincere. Reporters do that before they ask the hard questions. Playing with her fork, she looks up at him through her bangs. For some reason, it reminds him achingly of Clark, less than twenty-four hours away. He may just take off the entire day. "I--"

"Lex." Gabe comes back in, phone in hand, looking worried. "I'm sorry, there's a problem at the plant--"

Lex begins to stand up, wiping his hands quickly. "What's wrong?"

"No--nothing you need to worry about. Some hiring problems. My department." Gabe looks between his daughter and Lex, obviously only half-here. "I have to go check--" But he doesn't want to leave his daughter alone at night.

"I can go, Gabe." But no. Hiring is Gabe's thing--God alone knows what goes on in the inner recesses of HR, but Lex has no desire to find out.

"I--" He struggles, not wanting to say, no, really, you can't, and Lex hides the smile. Telling your boss that he's really not good at that sort of thing is probably not the easiest thing in the world. "Lex, it's--"

"Tell you what. I'll wait with Chloe while you handle it. It shouldn't take too long, but I can certainly spare the time." The naked relief is certainly worth the slight inconvenience.

"I can't ask that of you." But he's looking it, and Lex considers the novel idea he's now considered a suitable chaperone for a sixteen year old girl. This is, in fact, possibly the single most surreal moment of his life, bar none. 

"It's not a problem. I'm sure Miss Sullivan will prove entertaining." And that in any other conversation would have a very different meaning. "And incentive to hurry back, before your daughter ferrets out all my secrets."

Gabe grins, setting the phone down. "Right. Thank you." Turning to his daughter, he crouches down, reaching to touch her face. "I'll be back soon. Be a good hostess."

"I'm always a good hostess." 

The touching father/daughter moment ends with a hurried rush from the room to locate keys and coat, and a run out the door. Lex stares across the table at Chloe, who picks up her fork and stabs a broccoli spear, then looks at him with the cheerful intensity. Yes, she's going to go far, this little Sullivan. "So, we were talking about fertilizer, weren't we, Lex?"

* * *

There is, Clark has come to realize, a vast difference between what he's done before and what Marian does with him now. 

It's weird that it takes this for it to sink in. Just a slow, uncomfortable fuck, not different from anything else he's done, really, if he thinks about it. Lionel doesn't want anything exotic, just the most basic of basics. There's been worse, and messier, but there's never been this.

It should be impersonal, but it's not, and that's the thing that keeps Clark trapped, the minutes dragging by like hours. Lionel doesn't prefer guys, that's in every line of his body, every touch, the way he tries to make it what he's used to, unfamiliar with the intricacies of lube, hissing at the difference between the body he's pushing into and the ones he's used to fucking.

It's not just sex, it's not just a fuck for money, it's something else, and Clark thinks of what Lex said about his father, fingers digging into the pillow to keep from turning around and pushing Lionel off, get him out of the apartment, *drown* in the shower to get this off his skin and out of his body. 

Lionel grunts in effort, and Clark forces himself to relax, ride out the uneven thrusts, hating every touch of blunt fingers on the back of his neck, holding him down on the bed, barely reacting to the jerks of his hair or the way that Lionel touches him, skimming skin and bone like he's searching for something on him. His son, maybe, and isn't *that* a creepy thought to have, but it won't stop coming. It's not an accident, it's Lex, and Clark wonders what Lionel thinks he's doing, what he thinks Lex will do, and almost sighs when he feels Lionel stop again, panting against his back, sweat dripping onto his skin.

"I expected better," Lionel says, like words can hurt Clark after all this time. Like this is supposed to be huge and frightening, like he can't imagine Clark being anything but scared, humiliated, when he's done so much worse; seen it, too. A hard thrust makes Clark grab for the edge of the mattress to keep his balance. "My son's gutter tastes are showing."

Clark closes his eyes, wondering if he should pretend it hurts. Any of it.

"I've heard some interesting things about you, Clark." Still in his ass, barely moving, and Clark shifts his knees apart, pushing back, just a little. This has got to end. Even the worst sex eventually ends. "Marian thinks you're quite an extraordinary boy."

And God, where the hell had Marian *found* him? How? 

"Very extraordinary. Gifted, one might say."

It takes everything in him not to react, keeping his body pliant, riding out the sharp, awkward thrusts. "Marian likes money." No, scratch that. Marian likes drugs. Likes money for the drugs it buys. Likes--he stops that thought short, imagining Marian, shooting up somewhere, hazed out on what the use of his body is buying.

Jesus. He's being sold to this for *drugs*. 

"She told me many things about you, Clark," Lionel hisses in his ear, hot breath against the side of his face. "Like perhaps, you have--other talents. Talents I might find useful. I can be a very--appreciative employer, Clark."

Appreciative. "I don't know what you're talking about." It's weird, how calm his voice is, when his head is anything but. Lionel was looking for him. And Marian *told* him, and she left Clark here with this man tonight, she *told* him--maybe not everything, but enough.

Oh God, Lionel Luthor *knows*. Not everything. But something. Maybe enough.

The grip on his hair tightens, jerking his head from the damp pillow, and Clark opens his eyes on a flushed, sweaty face, hair an unkept mess, eyes dark and angry and aroused all at once. Lionel's weight on his back wants to push him into the mattress, and his head is turned at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. He can't afford to shift away, not now. Just keeps his eyes wide and shocked, fake the terror that's more real than he wants it to be. 

He doesn't know enough, or he'd try harder.

"I'm not an idiot, boy." Another too-hard, awkward thrust, and this would be killing anyone who wasn't Clark. "I want to know what you are."

Clark stares back. He can't even pretend to flinch, watching the dark eyes begin to dilate, like Lex's just before he comes, body shivering against his. So close. Hurting him gets Lionel off. So, apparently, does Lex. Holding Lionel's gaze, Clark licks his lips, feeling the twitch of Lionel's cock. "Your son's whore."

* * *

Chloe lets him push her out into the backyard, where the remains of a garden are in evidence, maybe something she or Gabe was working on, long abandoned. Parking the wheelchair on the porch, Lex looks out over the subdivision, the neat, military-order of the houses, the sky above too bright from all the streetlights to see the stars.

He has *no* idea what to talk about. His experience with teenage girls isn't anywhere in the same *realm* as Chloe. "Are you settling in well? How's school?" 

He could almost kick himself at the look on her face. She's not in school, he reminds himself--Gabe said something about being taught at home, the internet, some teacher or other that the county funds to come three times a week. He's an idiot.

"The tutor? He's good, just strict. But I need that to keep up with my class. So. So when I go back, I won't--be behind." Her teeth set behind tight lips, and God, what he wouldn't do for alcohol right now.

"Of course."

Licking her lips, she gives him a sideways glance. "I have to. I can't--let this be all I am."

Lex thinks of clinics, doctors, months and years of tests, and at fifteen, finally putting a stop to it, the first battle against his father he'd ever won. "Yeah," he says slowly, holding her challenging gaze without flinching. "I can understand that."

"Dad wants to keep me wrapped up in wool. I--can't live like that. Not forever." The small knuckles are drawn white from her grip on the arms of the chair. "I--lost too much."

Lex nods. Friends. Her youth. The use of her legs. "I'm sorry. I--heard about it on the news. The explosion--"

She snorts, but the small hands loosen, crossing light on her lap, playing with the blanket spread over her leg. "It wasn't an explosion."

Now that's new. "It wasn't?"

"This--" she stops, giving him an uncertain look. "You've been here a few months. Haven't you noticed how--weird Smallville is?"

Besides the corn and the cows and the people who seem to muddle along in some vague fifties fog of behavior? "Not more than any other small town." He hopes. It's not like he has a huge basis for comparison.

She waves a hand in the general direction of town. "People--get weird. The guy--well, he didn't blow up the school so much as--electrocute it." Her face stiffens, eyes going dark. "They asked us, you know. The ones that could talk. What happened. No one believed us. And why should they?" The bitterness is so sharp it cuts the air. "We're stupid, traumatized kids, hallucinating."

"Electrocute?"

Chloe hesitates, looking up at him, a look on her face that's so funny Lex has to control himself not to laugh. It's the eternal look of a teenager oppressed by adults, and he's an adult now, apparently, to these people. Smallville will never stop being the worst place in the world. "You'll say what they said. That it's crazy." That I'm crazy, she doesn't say, but she doesn't need to.

"Maybe." Lex leans against a post, watching her struggle. "But then again, I've seen a lot. Try me."

Chloe swallows, hands twisting in her blanket. "I--he made the school's electric system go. He--just touched it and he overloaded it. It--" She stops, hands twisting even harder, and Lex wants to stop her, the pain on her face too raw. Remembering.

"You don't have to--"

"I *do*," she says fiercely, blue eyes filling with tears. "No one believes any of us. It was--it killed my friends, it almost killed me, but when I talk about it, they say I'm imagining it, that the trauma was affecting me, and I'm not crazy, I *know* what I saw. He touched people and they went up like bonfires, like someone who touched a live wire or something. Just *touched* them. He brought the whole school down on us and something fell on top of me and he was coming right *at me*--" her voice chokes, head turning away to hide the tears. 

He should do something. Something--adult. Tell her to stop, it's all right. That it's all in her head. That she imagined it, and no wonder. To tell her that after time, it'll be better. None of those things are true, and Lex might lie for a lot of reasons, but not to a girl who's suffered enough. "I see."

"And then--" Her voice is calmer now, but the hands are white around her blanket. "I had--there was this friend. And he--he stopped him. I--I think I blacked out. He pulled me out of the fire and I--I heard sirens and there were all these other students around me and we all--and--" her voice cracks again. "It was already taking over the school, but he went back in there. To get more people out. They--they never found his body." Her head swings down, hair hiding her face. "They never found a lot of the bodies, not--not to identify."

Christ.

"Chloe--"

"He was crazy," she whispers, and Lex wonders who she's talking about. "That--the meteor shower did something to people. To him. It did something to him. He was--when it happened, he was tied up in Riley's field. He was up there when it hit, and it's like, anyone who was there, they--"

"Changed." And isn't that a memory to treasure. The sharp blue eyes fix on him suddenly, and Lex catches himself before he flinches.

"You were there."

She's *good*.

"You read about that?"

Her eyes hold his. "I've had a lot of time and not much to do."

Fair enough. "Jeremy Creek." Lex hesitates a little, memory pushing to the surface from the neatly repressed areas of his mind. Great. Just great. "I was there that day, yes. With him. I don't remember most of it." Or any, really. Dreamscapes and dejavu don't count.

Her eyes fix on his bald head, sliding down like she's cataloguing him. It's--eerie, really.

"I'm not homicidal, if that's what you're wondering." Even to himself, he sounds defensive. For some reason, though, Chloe smiles, raising a hand to awkwardly wipe the tears from her face. "What?"

"I didn't think you were." She pauses again, the intense look back. "It was hard for me to come back here, after everything. Was it easy for you?"

"No." Lex sighs softly, wondering where Gabe is and promising himself Gabe will have an assistant to handle plant emergencies by, like, tomorrow. Tonight, if he gets home early enough to make some phone calls. "But there's a lot to be said for facing your demons, so they don't get too big. So they don't dominate your life." Christ, he sounds like Dad now. Dad's all about conquering your fears. Or beating them down so far in your subconscious they don't intrude on practical daily life. "Coming here has been--interesting." 

Chloe nods, one eyebrow raised in what looks disturbingly like irony. "Yes, that's just the word I was looking for. Interesting." She shivers, head tilting back to look at the sky. "It's getting colder. You want to go in?"

And that, Lex thinks, is that. "Sure." Kicking up the brake with one foot, Lex turns her chair around to the door.

"I can do it myself," she says sharply, hands hovering over the wheels, like she just might take off on her own, closed door ahead or not. He pities the door if she tries. 

"I know." Going to the door, he pushes it open, then comes back around, pushing her chair inside. Her head cranes back, giving him a suspicious look. "I just like to be useful."

She almost smiles. "You're a real charmer, you know that? No wonder Dad likes you so much."

Lex grins back. He could really like this kid. "Thank you."

* * *

Clark can feel Lionel watching him from the side of the bed. Every movement is slow and deliberate, always watching, measuring, looking for whatever Marian had told him.

There really aren't words for how Lionel feels--meeting him in the penthouse hadn't prepared him, and Lex. It's the same, and it's completely different. A slow headache is spreading wire-fine tendrils across his skin, making his head feel tight and hot. Only Lionel's steady stare keeps him from reaching up to touch.

"I don't suffer fools gladly, Clark." The good humored menace should be terrifying, but Clark's beyond being scared of anything right now. The night's been too long, his head hurts too much, and there's nothing, nothing, that Lionel can say to him that can hurt him. Nothing that hasn't been said before, and meant.

Clark wonders if it would be suspicious to roll onto his back. A normal person would be sore. He's not, and he's not even sure he cares about hiding it. And staying on his stomach for this isn't helping--he twists his head around awkwardly, shaking his hair from his eyes. "Look who you're using as your source of information." A junkie. It twists in his head, but Clark holds the muddy eyes, not daring to show weakness. There's a lot of Lionel in Lex, but Lex never radiated raw threat like this. He never needed to.

Lionel pauses, picking up his tie, and Clark keeps his gaze fixed. He doesn't want anything as much as he wants to get out of this room--more than a shower, more than clean clothes, even more than another long, dream-like weekend with Lex, he wants out of here. It's too much, and he needs to *think*, not react, and God, it's been too long since he thought about anything at all. "Your friend seems reliable enough."

That's almost funny. "She sold me for an ounce of China White." Or something. "You really think she isn't telling you exactly what you want to hear?"

For just a second, Lionel looks uncertain--it's gone, almost faster than a normal person could see, but Clark is everything and anything but normal. Shifting up, he slides off the bed, faking a wince that he hopes looks vaguely realistic. He's got to get Lionel out of here before he notices--anything. Something. That some things after a night of sex like that should show, but they don't. Pulling out a clean t-shirt, Clark pulls it over his head, then reaches for his jeans. 

"I don't believe you."

"You think if I was that--whatever the hell the papers are calling him--I'd live *here*?" It's probably, come to think, the only reason Lex isn't even *thinking* in his direction after that thing with Jeremy. "I'd do *this*?"

Another pause, almost indiscernible. "Maybe we should find out." The low purr sends goosebumps up every inch of Clark's skin. Too fast, he pulls on his jeans. "A weekend, perhaps. Get to know you a little better."

It's fast--the headache jumps a notch and around the back of his head. He can barely see his jeans through the shimmer of his vision. "You'll have to talk to Marian." And Marian will talk to him. Maybe tell him more, if she has to. If Lionel gets her price right.

Lionel's voice is pleased. "I plan to. Until then, Clark." Stepping neatly into his shoes, Lionel walks out of the room. Clark stays at the dresser, listening for the opening and close of the front door, eyes closed, feeling like his head's being turned inside out. Now--isn't a good time. There's never a good time, but this, this isn't the time.

It takes everything in him to go into the living room, staring at the door, make *sure* he's gone. Marian will be back soon, and Clark doesn't doubt at all that Lionel will set it up, and he'll be *fucked*. So very fucked. Marian--he's got to talk to her first. Explain--

Explain what she already said she wanted. She's talked to Lionel. She could have talked to someone else. And if someone offered her--if they pushed hard enough, if they--

Peeling off jeans and shirt, Clark throws them in a pile on the floor with his clothes from last night, then methodically strips his bed, hands steady. Inured to the smells of sex though he is, somehow, it still overwhelms him, and it's like that--one second, staring at the pile, the next, a bonfire in his bedroom.

Clark stares at it for a long time before moving to his dresser, eyes on the hungry flames, and starts to remove the neatly folded clothing inside.

* * *

The frantic knocking drags him off the bare mattress, still staring at the burned ashes of what had been--well, most of his possessions. It's not Marian, and that doesn't sound like Lionel coming back, which leaves--actually, not anyone he can think of, except maybe Stella. That's almost enough of a thought to stop him short, but he's already moving, and it's not like he'll be sleeping anyway, once Marian gets home.

Another knock, then ominous silence, and Clark pauses, flicking his sight to see through the door, just in time to see a big guy he doesn't recognize knock the door down with a really cool kick. He'd be a lot more impressed if this wasn't his home.

Before something silly like *thought* takes over, Clark has him against the wall, hand around a fragile, well-fleshed throat. Nice suit, nice sunglasses, one of Lionel's men? Maybe. Maybe.

"Clark."

He barely notices the small hand on his elbow, jerking ineffectually, taking only enough attention to knock whoever it is aside, hearing, from a distance, the sound of something hitting the wall. The headache's different this time--expectant. Like it knows that it won't take much for Clark to let it free again. Like maybe, it won't take anything at all.

"Clark!" Someone pushing between them, hand waving in his face. "Friend! Jesus, kid, back the fuck *down*. You want Marian's little buddies up here before we can leave?"

For a second, Clark doesn't want to let go, and that scares him. It would be easy, and it would be quick, and God, after everything else--after everything else, it would feel good. So good.

"*Clark*." A small hand slaps across his face. "What the *fuck*, Clark?"

Clark pries his fingers loose, stepping back, eyes still on the too-well-dressed man gasping for air on his floor. Stella steps between them, hands fisted at her sides, staring at him like he's gone crazy.

He might have. Taking a breath, Clark looks at her, no idea what he's going to say.

"Luthor's gone. Wonderful little morning visit habit he has, isn't it?" Her eyes inventory the room quickly, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "Did you flambé something?"

"Something like that."

For a second, he thinks she might call him on it, but the dark eyes roll up as she shrugs. "Come on. Marian's coming down soon and I don't feel like having my ass kicked by her new friends, 'kay? So pack up and come on."

"What--" Clark breaks off as Stella breezes past him, stuttering to a stop at the doorway of her bedroom. "Stella. I--"

"Someone got pissy with their bedroom arrangement?" She leans into the doorway, cataloguing the almost-empty room. Amused as all hell. "Tantrum? Who was here? Did she finally pimp you out to the wrong person?" He should--say something. The pause stretches, though, and Clark watches her back slowly straighten as she turns around, wide eyes, taking in his still-wet hair, the towel he hadn't bothered to change out of. "Luthor. Christ, Luthor was here for a *trick*? She sold you to Lex's *Dad*?"

He could deny it, but he'd be lying, and they both knew it. "Don't tell Lex." It hadn't hit him until just now, but--God. No. That's not--God, that's not something Lex *ever* needs to know.

"If he doesn't know by now, he will soon, courtesy of his buddies in Daddy's service." Shaking her head, she looks at the guy on the floor, now struggling to his feet in some attempt at dignity. "Call Lex and tell him we're on our way. Come on, Clark."

"Stella--"

"Marian's going to be here soon. You wanna explain this shit to her? Do you? Or are you that hot to see she gets her morning hit courtesy of your pretty ass?"

The headache seems to flash to a whole new level of heat, stretching slow tendrils around his head. No. No, he really doesn't.

A thin hand closes around his arm, pulling him toward the door, nodding at the guy that had come with her. "Make the call." Sliding her sunglasses down, she gives the hall a sharp look, then pulls again. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

* * *

There's something to be said for quiet dinners with employees and their too-curious daughters, as opposed to Metropolis night life--no hangovers the day after. Lex isn't, as far as he knows, a morning person, but on the other hand, come afternoon, his pretty Clark will be at the manor, and Lex will be doing his level best to keep him in bed for as many days straight as possible. The next month, maybe. Gabe is perfectly capable of running the plant. Lex could build them a house attached to it if necessary, just so Chloe was always in range of her doting father. 

It could happen. It's a cheering thought, so he and his coffee make the rounds in a spirit of sheer bliss. Even Gabe, in for the morning while Chloe has her physical therapy, comments on it.

"I'm looking forward to the weekend," Lex says, and how long has it been since he could say *that*? Grinning over his cup, Lex reaches for the reports Gabe is holding. "Have a seat."

Gabe shakes his head. "I have to check some production figures with the floor manager. Do you need me to go over anything else before lunch?"

Lex thinks of just closing the plant for the day. It would be something to piss his father off on every conceivable level and have the added attraction of being pretty damn crazy, even for him. There's really nothing as much fun as being the boss, Lex thinks, smiling up at Gabe. It's actually on the tip of his tongue to say it.

"Sir?"

Lex's eyes jerk to the open door, his secretary standing ruler-straight in the doorway. She's getting very, very annoying. Pushing her hair back, she gives Gabe a lethal look. She doesn't approve of people having free access to his office without going through her. Then again, she doesn't approve of anything, even Lex.

"Yes?" One day, Lex thinks idly, he's going to fire her. And really, really enjoy it. An extra-special gift to himself. Maybe for his birthday.

"There's a--woman here to see you." The look on her face reminds him of someone in the throes of severe constipation. This day just keeps getting *better*. "She says--"

A voice drifts over her shoulder, just on the edge of really pissed. "That you'll let me in the damn office."

Lex can't help grinning. Perfect. "Please let Stella in."

Stella pushes by, turning on one chunky heel, and flashes out a over bright smile that drips sweet malice. She's good at that. "You heard him. Bye." With a flick of her wrist, she swings the door closed, leaving Lex one last, pleased look at his secretary's stunned face. Oh yes. Fantastic.

Turning back around, Stella opens her mouth, then sees Gabe. "Oh. Sorry, I--"

"This is Gabe. You've heard me talk about him." In retrospect, Lex wonders if he's ever had a conversation with Stella about work. If he's having her in Smallville, he'd better start. "Gabe, this is Stella." And there's an introduction quandary--this is my mistress does not roll off the tongue like it should. And in her chunky heels and short skirt, by no stretch of the imagination can she be a business associate.

Gabe, always a gentleman, gamely extends his hand. "Stella. A pleasure." Gabe's glance back at him is short and hysterically conspiratorial. Ah. He gets the picture. Not the right one, but something useful at least. "We've all wondered if Lex had a life outside work."

This is better than a movie. Stella shakes his hand firmly, tossing Lex a quick, amused look. Yes, she would get a kick out of it. "Not enough of one. So I thought I'd visit."

Gabe steps back, looking between them for a second almost paternally. "Well. I'll--go." Stepping around Stella, Gabe opens the door. "Have a good weekend, Lex."

Lex waves one hand. "You too. Give Chloe my best."

Stella watches Gabe until the door closes, then turns. "Well. That was--"

"Different. What are you doing here?"

Rolling her eyes, she drops into the chair he offered Gabe earlier, bracing one foot on the desk and giving him notice she hadn't grown any fonder of underwear than she'd ever been. "You invited me, remember? Got any phone calls today?"

And that is a very weird way to start a conversation. Lex frowns, glancing at his phone, then pulls the cell from his pocket. Still off. Shit. "What happened?" Turning it on, the message note flashes across the screen. And shit again. "I forgot to turn it back on last night." Or this morning.

"Called you twice from the road. Nice to know you're paying attention." 

Fuck you, too. "Get to the point."

"Clark got a little visit from Daddy Dearest," Stella says, leaning back. Under normal circumstances, this would be pleasantly distracting. Right now, it's not. "Now tell me something. You're having him watched. Why the fuck are you bothering if you're not going to fucking *do anything*."

For a second, Lex is absolutely sure he misunderstood her. "My father--"

"Bought a night from Marian. Look, dunno what happened and I don't *want* to know, but it wasn't good. Clark--" She stops, shifting her foot back to the floor. "He's not good, Lex."

It has to be a mistake. "Dad doesn't--" Doesn't. Women, yes. Men, no. That doesn't even make *sense*. "He didn't."

"I saw him leave, and your security probably broke the fucking phone company to try and tell you last night. Yes, he did. Clark--" She stops, looking uncomfortable.

His lips can barely shape words. "Was he--hurt?" 

"He was okay physically, if that's what you mean. Did a little number on his bedroom I'm glad I wasn't there to see, though." Her eyes narrow. "The only way Lionel could get to Clark is through Marian, and she--" Stella stops short, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "She'll do anything to get her shit. Now you get what I mean?"

Yes. Yes, he does. "He--and Clark--"

Before he can finish the sentence, Stella is leaning over the desk, one hand planted on the ledger in front of him. "You give him any shit about it, I swear, I'll drive him right back to Metropolis. Marian's doing fine on her own making him miserable. He sure as shit doesn't need it from you."

He's not sure how he feels. It's like that second after he realized Jeremy was going to kill him. There's nothing there to draw on, and Clark's *here*, and God alone knows what he's thinking. "I won't. I--" Have no idea what I'll say to him. Lionel went after *Clark*. Christ. "Is he okay?"

"He's--resting, I think." She doesn't look away. "He needs to--get away from her. From Marian, from the city. From his life." Slowly, she backs off, but she doesn't sit down, watching him warily. "He needs *rest*."

Lex licks dry lips, looking for something to say. Dad had-- "Is the staff--"

"They're great." Shifting, her eyes fix on the window. "Clark went to his room and said he needed to think. When you come back, just--be careful with him, okay? He's so wound up I had a hell of a time getting him to come with me when he found out where we were going." A sudden grin creeps out. "Of course, I waited until we were a good ways from the city before I told him, too. I'm going back." For a second, she looks uncertain. "Should I tell him you're tied up at the office--?"

Yes. No. "I'll be home in about an hour. Make yourselves comfortable. Anything you need, just tell my staff, they'll take care of it." Slowly, Lex tries on a smile. It almost feels real. "Get Clark to eat something."

"Done." With a stronger grin, she turns around, and Lex gives himself a few seconds to watch her ass, skirt riding up long, tanned legs in a way that suggested a lot of other things he could be doing right now that don't have anything to do with thought. When she's gone, though, he flips through his phone, marking out every message, one an hour like clockwork, from his dinner at the Sullivans through this morning. Punching in a number, Lex swivels his chair to stare out the window. "Tyler. Tell me everything."


End file.
